


I can see the real you (So, please. Stop crying)

by Novirp13



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But Tony is Sherlock, But it's a series and not one-shot collections, Death adores Tony Stark, Drabble-style, Finally have beta on chapter 16 :D, Hurt Tony Stark, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Protective John Watson, Protective Mycroft, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Tony is not Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 24,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12888891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novirp13/pseuds/Novirp13
Summary: After three hours struggling in the biting cold of Siberia, Anthony ‘Tony’ Edward Stark was no moreAnd Sherlock Holmes opens his eyes





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to say, no. Tony Stark is NOT Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes is real. This fic set after Reichenbach Fall. Again, Sherlock is real and not another identity Tony created to not fucked up the timeline `3`

 

Tony lay on the cold of HYDRA bunker, watching the cloud slowly go by from the wrecked roof. Snow started to fall and it seeps into the multiple cracks of his off suit. He wheezed, breath hitched as it turned ragged, the plate pressing his chest and his lung. It hurt. It hurt.

The blow. The jab. The strike. The _betrayal._

It hurt it hurt hurt hurt _hurthurthurtgodjustkillhim_

He just wanted to help. He knew he fucked up before, cost a million, billion of death. But he’s trying. He just wanted to help his teammate, friend, family. He just wanted them (does it included himself? He didn’t know. And he didn’t want to think about that) to live in peace. But why? Why does everything hurt? Why does everything—

.

 _His father begged. Begged for the life of his wife as he beat him again, again, and_ again _till breath was no more_

 _His mother cried._ Cried _for the loss of her husband as she clawed for freedom. Clawed the cold metal hand before the snap of her neck was the last thing she heard_

.

—so _fucking_ hurt?

He wailed; Wailed for the lost parents. Wailed for the lost of his anchor. Wailed for the lost child of him in the hand of his creation. Wailed for the lost trust. For the lost friends. Wailed until it turned into sob to hiccups to a hoarse plea.

As his breath shallow and sight going blur, Tony laughed when the illusion of his proud parents, Jarvis and JARVIS welcomed him.

At least—he smiled and embraced them—he can finally say that he had done enough. 

.

.

After three hours struggling in the biting cold of Siberia, Anthony ‘Tony’ Edward Stark was no more.

.

.

_Dark. That was the only thing he could—or couldn’t. He didn’t really know—see. His figure felt light and he was floating._

**_“What a pure soul...”_ **

_A sound reverberated from somewhere. Or nowhere. Or anywhere. He couldn’t tell. It felt like the sound itself was near him but far from him at the same time. Something cold and hot touches his face, calming and stressing his entire figure. The silky voice that sounds like a thousand beings coalesced, jarring his whole body as they speak._

**_“Do you want to rest?”_ **

_He furrowed. Why did they ask that? No. No, he won’t. He has to start the counter-measured of another alien invasion. He has to go back and fix the accord. He has to_ help _his teammate_

**_“You know it’s not your responsibilities alone...”_ **

_What did they talking about? Of course it is. He was the reason Rhodey can’t walk anymore. His best friend. His best, best friend. He has to go back. He_ has _to fix his mistake._

**_“Oh, my child. Don’t torture yourself more than this...”_ **

_But he deserved this. Can’t you see? This is his punishment. This is what he got for all the death of those innocent; those in Sokovia, those in Afghanistan, Yinsen. For his arrogance. For his stubbornness. He has to go back, he struggled. He_ has _to!_

**_“If that is really your wish. I’ll send you back when the time’s come.”_ **

_He abruptly stopped, eyelid halfway open but pupil contracted._ Really?

**_“Yes. Just, please. Please....rest.”_ **

_He gulped._ Rest. _Okay. Yeah. Fine. Sounds good. He can close his eyes and...rest for a couple of minutes. Then he can go back and fix this. Yeah. He’ll_ fix _this. He has to._

As Tony’s eyelids finally dropped, he vaguely heard someone crying.

Funny. Because that voice sounded like they’re crying _for_ him.

.

.

In another place, in another time, a bulky man with a top hat took another step, black cane crunching the dry leaf.

And leaned down to watch another figure encompassed inside a metal suit tried to swallow a breath.

.

.

That day, the mistress of Death is weeping for the ongoing struggle of a beautiful soul.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m crying because of my own writing. The sad songs are not helping!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little sneak peeks of what happened in Tony’s world after he’s gone. Then, I’m not going to write about Avenger after a while. This fic will be about Tony in Victorian Era and living a new life anyway.  
>   
> Don’t worry, Avenger will be back. But not until almost the end of the story, I think? Or when I think it's a good place to mention them again `3`  
>   
> Oh and I’m gonna say this. I don’t like Wanda. Hate her actually after what she did to Vision. But I don’t think she’s full-blown villain (well, not after Ultron). So for you people who don't like sensible!Wanda, I don’t think this is for you.  
>   
> Don’t worry. I still hate her lol

Three months after the Civil War, T’Challa informed them that they’re pardoned to go back to America; but not without signing the accords. At first Steve wanted to protest, but when Wanda tentatively reach the hundreds pages of the said accords (that’s too much. Wasn’t the one Ross brought to them was only twenty pages long?) and said that she was sick of dancing around the problem, backed up by Scott (who was withdrawn from them after the first week. And Wanda too, he finally realized. It felt like they’re _deliberately_ distancing themselves from the team), he finally relented.

It was still not perfect, yet that’s why there’s this paragraph mentioning about ‘compromise’ and ‘hearing other superheroes opinion’. He also found about allowing vigilante to keep their mask and identity on as long as they’ll take responsibility for what they do; including the collateral damage they caused after their superhero-ing ( _‘If you can’t pay it with money then pay it by helping the relief force’_. Steve mussed, have they ever joined the relief force after their battle? He strangled, almost _never_. They always—he shriveled—they always relied on Tony and his money for this). It was proposed by a vigilante called ‘Spiderman’, supported by another vigilante called ‘Daredevil’.

So, even the kid from Queen had a hand in the accords.

After they finished reading and signing (this...this is _so_ different with what they imagined. He thought the government have an agenda and just want to use them. And by the glances of Scott and Wanda, he felt like they knew this already and were judging his reaction to it. It was _awful_ ) they’re now in a jet provided by Wakanda. Bucky was still in Cyro and T’Challa won’t even think about releasing him. Because it was Bucky’s choice, to just freeze who-knows-how-long until someone could find a solution to make the triggers words disappear. The silence was awkward, still warped around the idea of the accord was never evil in the first place; _incomplete_ , but never binding.

When they arrived in America, nobody greets them happily. Steve could even say some of the media in the airport were giving them a stink eyes. They were shoving their mics on them, asking anything that he couldn’t even begin to understand because they kept overlapping with each other.

 _So you thrown Vision from several floors and never felt remorse by it?_ (Wanda winced)

 _That suit is not even yours, right?_ (Scott ducked his head)

 _Will Colonel Rhodes help you in getting back into the Air Force?_ (Sam gulped)

 _Did you just abandon your family for a war that is not even your responsibility?_ (Clint swear)

_Are you happy that you finally killed Iron Man, Mr. Rogers?_

Steve snapped his attention at that particular question, staring at a blonde, beautiful woman (he read the nametag. Christine Everhart) with dark eyes never leaving his own blues. She looked disgusted at him when he showed her his shocked expression. Moreover, if looks could kill, Steve felt like he’ll die multiple times already, “wha—“

“Are you _happy_...” her lipped trembled. Like she didn’t believe her own words. Although voice never wavered, “...that you finally _killed_ Iron Man, Mr. Rogers?”

The commotion suddenly died down, every reporter present held their breath, waiting for an answer. His teammate was watching with wide eyes. While Steve himself could only gape, not comprehending the initial source of that question. Before he could even question though, he heard a familiar voice.

“Mr. Rogers and his friend. Welcome back to America.”

He turned his head and gasped, when he noticed Colonel Rhodes—or not Colonel anymore—in a wheelchair, face blank. Happy, Tony’s chauffeur and ex-bodyguard because he said the man is now protecting Pepper, was pushing the vehicle and not even looking at them. The sea of reporters parted to let them through, watching everything happened with their eyes and camera lenses. Rhodey ignored them and said, “let settle you back into the compound, shall we?” before he gestured Happy to turned back.

“R—Rhodes!” Sam called, hand outstretched, “I—“

“Save it, Wilson” Rhodes cut him clean, “anything you people want to say can wait until we arrive at Potts Tower”

_Potts Tower?_

“Avenger Tower” as though Rhodey could hear their mind, he amended, “it should be renamed as Stark Tower after they disbanded the Avenger. But because Tones is not even here _anymore_ , we called it Potts Tower.”

Then they’re back in a circle (what does that mean by ‘Tony’s not even here anymore?’ Steve didn’t understand). However as Rhodes looks like he didn’t want to speak to them, he couldn’t do anything besides wait.

And, leaving the restarting clamor of reporters behind them, they’re inside the limousine now and was ready to finally be back.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never thought I’m going to input Daredevil in this story. I mean...I just started watching the series, for God sake. I don’t even know every character in that film. But meh....Wikipedia always help `3`  
>   
> Sensible!Christine is also here, oops totally forget to mention her. I really think her and Tony should be a rival after IM1. She knew Obadiah was the reason for illegal weapon selling so I think her view on Tony should be a lil bit okay. I felt like Christine is like an older sis who loves to point her lil bro’s fault because she wants him to be better and not because she hates him.  
>   
> Come on...you know that Tony pre-Afghan is a playboy so it shouldn’t be a surprise he ditched you after that one-night stand :p


	3. Chapter 3

Wanda knew she was in the wrong; especially after Bucharest. Especially after her power went haywire and countless innocent people pay for it.

_I cannot control their fear. Only my own_

What a joke.

If she can control her power, people would never be afraid of her in the first place. Just like _he_ said.

Just like Tony said.

At first, she hated him after his missile killed her parents. Despised him because while she and her (late) brother was basically an orphan (and didn’t he and her brother also orphaned a lot of children after the Hulk went berserk?), the man itself live in wealth and shower of money. But when she saw his mind, saw how he was afraid of his friends dying (and that didn’t include him. How could someone ever fear of other people dying but _not_ himself?), she had a second doubt. That maybe. Maybe, Tony is not as arrogant as she thought he was.

Then he told her about Obadiah and Wanda was disgusted at herself.

(Pietro told her, that it was wrong to blame a weapon designer for the death of the victim. Said that the culprit, the one who wielded the weapon are the one that should pay for their crime. But did she heard him? _No_. And look at what happened?)

_(‘Ultron’ happen)_

Tony is not an expressive man, he never knew how to tell the people he care that he cares, his mind told her. Yet Wanda was so blind. When Tony imprisoned her ( _no,_ he did not. He did that because he tried to protect her. Didn’t he already tell her that before ‘the incident’? Before Civil War?) in her room, she was frustrated; frustrated at people fearing her. Frustrated at how little she could control her magic. Frustrated because he was right. He was _right_.

That all of that fear was because of her fault.

She was basically slapped by this fact when they finally arrived at the compund—Rhodey and Happy gone ahead to meet with the UN councils—and was greeted by a teenager in a spandex suit.

Wanda realized that this teenager is the famous Spiderman. She was a little shocked because he didn’t wear his mask and glared at them so heatedly, the scarlet-haired woman could even taste the hatred.

“Y-You’re a teenager?” she heard Steve squawked, staring at Spider-man in disbelief, “so I fought a war with a kid? What _was_ Tony thinking—“

“ _Don’t_ call me a kid, Mr. Rogers!” he spatted and Steve wilted, “and don’t you dare blame Mr. Stark for this. Yeah, he approached me but he never forced me on this. I volunteered.”

Steve gulped, but his determination renewed. As he takes a step forward, he said, “ _listen_ , kid. I don’t know what Tony told you that makes you volunteer, but it was still wrong of him to let a kid joined a war—“

“Oh really? Just like how you let that _witch_ joined you to fight?”

And Wanda winced.

Steve’s face turned patient, like a mom trying to chide their kid to go back home before night. Wanda saw how that expression irked the Spider kid, “no, you don’t understand. Wanda is 26 already, she’s a legal adult—“

“But wasn’t it you that said _‘oh, Tony. She was just a kid. Give her a second chance. It was not her fault that those people in Bucharest are all dead. She was just trying to help’_. Right?” Spider-man sing-song voice mocked them, physically and mentally, it hurt. Steve, trying to debate, was now irrevocably silent because wasn’t the teen right? Steve really did say that, huh? And Wanda really believed in that, huh? How could she not recognize that it was such a hypocrite things to spoke?

That Steve was saying that when the situation was not in their favor? That, if you think about it, he and her were a very selfish people?

“I’m just gonna said it before you meet with Ms. Potts. ‘cuz she’s been through hell lately and I don’t want you to worsen the situation. I _hate_ you all.” He whispered. But in this tense silence, the teen was practically screaming at them, “I hate Hawkeye for abandoning his family for a war that is not even his business after his so-called retirement. I hate Falcon for believing blindly in Mr. Roger and never give Mr. Stark a chance. I hate Ant-Man for jumping into the fray even though he never knows the full story—and that goes for me too. But now I know and I’m glad Mr. Stark approached me first and not you. I hate Scarlet Witch for her stupidity in blaming Mr. Stark for something he couldn’t even control. You know he just made those weapons, right? You know Mr. Stark just sell it to America government and their affiliation, right? You know that it was not him who sells his weapon to those terrorists, _right_?”

Wanda knew. She _eventually_ knew. But it was too late at that time and she could only live in shame for violating, destroying innocent people lives.

“And the most important thing is...I _hate_ Captain America.” The teen uttered. His voiced trembling and eyes red, “I hate you for leaving the world in disaster for the sake of one, single man. I hate you for not caring the little people who worshipped you, who yearn for you to come and save them. I _hate_ you...I hate you for...” he hiccuped, tears now staining his chubby cheeks, “Mr. Stark _believed_ in you...why? Why did you _do_ that?”

.

_“Why did you leave him alone?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #HugPeter #ProtectPeter
> 
> OOC? Well...Peter thought Tony is dead so he’s bitter. I’m bitter. We’re bitter AF~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...I just got a bad review in my other fanfic...
> 
> Maybe you skip over the tag or something, but I'm gonna say it again. THIS STORY IS NOT BETA (yet). So, sorry in advance for all the grammar mistakes 
> 
> I use Grammarly, sure. Tho' it's not always right
> 
> Kindly tell me if u find the mistake(s). I'll gladly correct it :D

Scott wanted to approach the kid and hug him, said not to panic and everything is going to be okay. Yet after his dressing down, saying that he hated all of them, he couldn’t even say a word to calm him. They couldn’t do anything to the crying teenager. Not before Vision _(holy shit!!)_ suddenly appeared, phased through the side wall like a ghost, talked and soothed him down. The Spider kid didn’t lift his head, just nodded. Without looking back at the Avenger, he donned his mask, opened the nearest windows, shot his web and was gone within a blink.

Wanda, that was standing silently beside him, eventually found her voice again when she called, “Vision—“

“Ms. Potts is waiting for you.” Vision cut, turning their back on them. And Scott could see that action hurt Wanda so much, she scooted near him and seeking for warmth. He put a hand on her shoulder, “let me shows you to the meeting room.”

And they’re walking in silence, occupied with their own thought.

Scott already knew this will happen—not really this though; in which the media accusing Steve of killing Iron Man or the Spider kid to revealed his face and chewed them out. But he knew—that they’ll not going to get a friendly welcome. Knew after one week the Civil War passed, when team Captain America was forced to hide from the world, when he couldn’t even call his daughter because Captain was afraid someone will trace the phone back on him and the Government will right behind their asses (he didn’t exactly say ‘asses’. But you got the gist) that something was wrong.

He remembered that week, remembered how he seek T’Challa out (because the man was pro-Accord, to simplify things. He help Steve’s friend out of guilt and responsibilities but that doesn’t mean he supported their—team Captain America’s—action) asking Princess Shuri—because a king has his duty and Scott shouldn't bother him for that, the Dora Milajee said—for the copy of the accord. He realized, in growing horror, that the accord was not as petty as Captain America thought. That it dawned on him they were wrong. He was _wrong_.

That he chose a team of _terrorist_ , that was what the government called them.

And they are. Infiltrating other people country without asking for the said country permission, that’s a definition of an illegal immigrant if you’re just visiting and sight-seeing. But it’s a definition of terrorist when you destroyed their home and never came back to fix the problem.

Scott was kicking himself in despair after the revelation, hated at how stupid he was for jumping into action just because Captain America called. His ex-wife and his daughter will be so disappointed.

 _Hope will be_ so _disappointed._

(And next week, Wanda came to his room. She said that she thought, long and hard, about her action back in Bucharest, in compound—Vision—and at Civil War and she felt guilty for it. Then Scott showed her the accord)

(He hugged her when she cried until the middle of night)

They arrived at the meeting room. There are a couple of people already sitting there; Colonel Rhodes, a woman with blond hair in a black tight suit , the chauffeur, a man in red with small horns suit, another man with cloak and goatee as awesome as Tony Stark, a woman with strawberry blond hair wearing a crisp suit, and—he winced—Hope. She looked at him briefly before turning away. And that was an answer to him already.

That he’ll never be forgiven.

As Vision sat in his appointed chair, the strawberry blond woman spoke, “sit down, Avenger. We need to talk about your re-establishment as the heroes that will protect the earth. Even though I'll happily toss you to the prison and let you rot like a criminal supposed to be. But I believe Tony when he said alien invasion will come attack soon, so I asked the UN to briefly pardoned you. But after that, face the law like a normal human should be.”

Scott hunched on himself. That was right. They’re criminal. They should be in a prison, not running around like a headless chicken. Especially not after breaking so many laws and cost a _lot_ of innocent people’s lives.

 _God_ , he promised his daughter to redeem himself, but he had done the inevitable again, huh?

(After the invasion, he swears, as he stared at the still-not-looking Hope. He _swears_ he’ll turn himself)

(And, judging from the guilty expression on Wanda’s face, it looked like she came to the same conclusion. Although, he was not really sure she’ll accept it wholeheartedly, yet she realized it was her fault. Besides, she’ll accept years in prison instead of the execution people in Bucharest still intent to dissed on her)

They tentatively sat, awkwardly, as she continued, “for those who don’t know me and the people here, I’ll introduce you. My name’s Virginia Potts, please called me Ms. Virginnia or Ms. Potts. This is Ex-Colonel James Rhodes, he’s going to be the UN council representative. Harry Hogan, my chauffeur and bodyguard. Ms. Natasaha Romanova, an assassin and ex-SHIELD, she works for me from now on. Ms. Hope van Dyne, bearer of Wasp suit and partner in business. Vision, a magician and bearer of Mind Stone. Mr. Daredevil, you don’t need to know his identity, just believe us when we said he’s an ally. Mr. Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme and ex-surgeon, he met Tony at one of his Gala and now our friend in business; be it in medical or magic”

And here _(holy shit 2.0!!)_ the cloak that draped over Stephen’s back suddenly moved, catching everyone’s attention.

“And his companion, the Cloak of Levitation.” The said cloak fluffed in greeting, Stephen chuckled. Potts smiled fondly for a bit, before his stern countenance was back, “Alright, with the introduction over, we can—“

“Wait a second, Pepper,” Steve interjected, it caused Potts (Pepper? Why did he call her Pepper?) to frowned and directed her deadliest glare at him. Steve wilted but he pushed on, “where’s Tony? I thought he is going to be here”

Now that he realized, yes. The owner of the building itself is nowhere to be seen. And wasn’t that weird?

Judging from the darkening face on everyone present, Scott gulped. He prepared for the worst.

“First, Mr. Rogers. Don’t ever call me Pepper anymore. You have no right.“ Steve gulped, “And second. Tony is not here.”

“ _What_? He thought he was too ‘busy’ to meet us now?” Clint, for the first time after he stepped his foot in America, finally spoke. Or scoffed actually.

He saw how Potts expression turned sour, saw how she bit her lips and eyes started going orange (how?), “you all didn’t even watch the news, are you?”

No, they’re not. There are no other broadcasts other than Wakanda’s side. And even though they showed other country condition, they can’t even understand it because of the language barrier so they decided it was not worth it.

Potts was disgusted by their silence, she practically spatted the next sentences, “Tony is _not_ here.”

“He is _dead_.”

.

.

Prepared for the worst, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot about Natasha hah! Sorry. Here, I mentioned you now. Please don't be mad at me, girl :P
> 
> Yeah, she’s a good bro. After SHIELD informed her of Tony ‘death’, she felt so guilty, she decided to come back and ask for forgiveness. Not that Pepper and Rhodey (and everyone present) forgive her fully, but they accepted her back. And that’s a start.
> 
> Looks like I really decided to insert Daredevil in this story. Gotta change a few plan for stories updates in the future then (as if I have a plan lol) :’D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the last chap of Avenger side—freaking finally. I intended for it to be one chap only but I just couldn’t stop—and then we will be back to Tony POV~

Steve sat there, eyes widened in shock and face pale. He couldn’t believe it.

Tony is _dead_?

How?

When?

Where?

Why?

He couldn’t believe it.

_There’s...there’s no way..._

“Believe all you want, Mr. Rogers.” Oh, did he said that out loud? “yet it doesn’t change the fact that Tony is not here anymore.”

“B-But...how?” Sam stuttered, his countenance turned white, hands waving and orbs darting, “was he died, like, just yesterday or what?”

Pepper’s face pinched. Furthermore, was that an orange line started growing on the base of her nape? The air around her turned a bit too hot also, “no, he did not. He died three months ago. The exact event was, Tony never came back from Siberia.” She turned her burning gaze on Captain America as the said man realized in dawning horror while his teammate recognized the name, they unconsciously held their breath.

“You _killed_ him, Rogers.”

.

And everything just _crashed_.

.

He didn’t know how much times had passed, except for the moment he recovered from his shock (No. _No_ , he didn’t—there’s no way he killed Tony. He was—i _s!_ —still alive, he even ordered him to drop the shield!) Clint was face to face with Natasha, while Sam tried to separate them before bloodbath would happen.

“Maybe he was just afraid to show his face after he tried to kill Steve and his friend? Have you ever thought about that?!” the archer growled, all fangs and teeth, nerved bunched out on the side of his temple.

“Oh yeah? Why do you think Stark attacked them in the first place? That was because he—“ the widows jabbed her finger at him, Steve recoiled, “—betrayed him first!” then she grimaced at her own statements, “and I betrayed him _too_. I betrayed him when I agree to hide the truth from Stark. I _shouldn’t_ —“ she choked, face still impassive. Though for people who knew her, they could see she was trying to hold back tears.

Clint, not used to seeing Natasha showing more than one expression (because, even when they’re enemy after the war, he still views her as his partner. That time when they work together, laughing and bantering around will never be gone), scrunched his brows and backed off a bit, “what...what do you mean by _betrayed_?”

“Just like Ms. Romanov said, Mr. Rogers betrayed boss’s _trust_ ,” he heard FRIDAY, after their arrival, finally started to talk (he distinctly saw Scott jumped on his chair and swiveled his head around. If he was not in distress, he’ll found that funny because it reminded him of himself when he first heard JARVIS’s voice), “as you know that I am helping boss in controlling his suit, that included me recording basically everything, so I can study whatever that I deem suspicious more thoroughly. And before the suit was offline, I safely transferred the record of what had happened in Siberia.”

And there it was. The dark secret he tried to hide from his teammate (but was found out anyway), tried to hide it from Tony _(but was found out anyway)_ shown in all gory yet glory. Clint and Sam were rooted to their place, face ashen and jaws wide open. Scott shut his eyes and winced at every slam, every dent the shield disgustingly formed on the chest plate of Iron Man’s armor. While Wanda looked at him briefly, hurt flashed on her bright orbs before she seeks protection from the widower. Tony’s teammate (not anymore. When the man itself was not here to lead the team, his team. _And who's fault was that?)_ turned away from the holographic panel, trying their best to mute the recording though to no avail.

As the video dwindled to a whisper tint, nobody talked; not even a creak of chairs could be heard. His teammate—his team—gazed back at him, betrayal and _outrage_ showed clearly on every disbelief complexion. It was scary to see, Steve hunched on himself in defense.

(He was just trying to save Bucky. Why couldn’t everyone _see_ it?)

(But Tony’s action was justified. He was angry, he was sad, he was hurt _hurt hurt_ _oh_ my _god_ did _I_ really _look_ that _vicious_ when _I_ slammed _Howard’s_ shield _on_ his _chest?_ )

“H-However FRIDAY. You get that v-video from Tony’s suit, right?” Sam, the ever reliable and calm person (though he was not as calm as he usually is right now) asked, eyes shone with hope, “and you didn’t found his b-body, right? Maybe you just couldn’t track him because the suit was off?”

Maybe Tony is still _alive_?

Steve perked up at that. Tony’s alive? Then he can meet _him_ , talk to _him_ , apologize to hi—

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson. But that is not possible,” the man in cloak—his name is Strange—finally spoke after the ominous silence. His hands were circled in front of his broad chest, finger drumming on his arm in agitation and frustration, “I asked Thor to locate his whereabouts via Heimdall. I even tried to contact the Ancient One—my version of God, for the lack of better word—and they couldn’t find him. Heimdall explicitly said Tony is not in this world _anymore_ ; he couldn’t even find the corpse”

Black orbs like abyss gazed back at them, animosity as clear as day, “meaning, body or no body, Tony is— _officially_ —dead.”

.

.

_(Are you happy that you finally killed Iron Man, Mr. Rogers?)_

Now that question makes a lot of sense.

.

_He wishes it didn't though_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the media didn't know about the video. If they knew, Rogers will be in jail no matter how much Pepper tried to negotiate. She withheld the information so he can help them in the upcoming invasion. After that, though? Eeeh...you know Pepper is scary, right? :P
> 
> Christine just guessed. A lucky guess `3`


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chap is actually intended to be chap 2. But then idk....something came over me and I decided the Avenger scene was the more appropriate one
> 
> The avenger scene was actually intended for chap 19-22. Yeah, I actually write this fic for like 30 or so already. Maybe I’m actually writing another as I upload this one. Though I decided not to bombard you, the readers, with everyday upload (even tho’, in my case, I’ll love the author who uploads everyday lol. But we can’t force them to update cuz they’re human too, they have other real-life things to finish besides writing fanfics). Plus, sometimes I add another little chapter between the chaps that I already wrote so it’s not set in place anyway `3`

Mycroft waved his two bodyguards away when they tried to follow along, said that it’s not necessary because nobody ever come to the graveyard in the middle of the night. Sure, there is a chance something or someone lurking around, but he’s not that defenseless. He has his cane. In which people claimed he has that for show only. Nobody ever thought that you can hide a weapon inside--a thin sword, to be exact. Well, nobody smart enough like him ever thought of that. He tried to immobilize the threat with the sheath on though, he doesn't want any strike in his clean record. Especially when he’s a high profile person in the British government.

He arrived at the very end of the graveyard, in front of a small tombstone without a name. Mycroft wryly smiled, sat down on the dirty patches and start plucking the stray grass away. The man in the top hat then placed a small, white chrysanthemum. Nothing grand. Just a single flower he kept inside his breast pocket; crisp and fresh.

“You never like extravagant things in the first place anyway,” he maundered “I can buy you a whole library, but you decided to visit one. “

But that's what the reason he was so fond of him; his simple way of life, never wasting things he deemed excessive. So different from him yet so similar.

Mycroft caught a falling snow on his calloused palm, it melts into water at the moment of human heat. Cold. He hopes heaven is a nice place, even though the said haven was something he still scoffed about. He’s a man of science, never believe in religion.

Though just this once. Whatever God heard his prayer, please let him be at peace.

_Or your sacrifice will be for naught._

He shivered when another snow raining his hunched figure. He has to go back. Still have a lot of work to do, a lot of things to finish. Should not keep mulling over something that is already passed (but it’s _difficult_. He cared for him _so much,_ it hurt to forget. This is why humans are so fragile; their emotion will always appalling the brain to function like it should be).

As Mycroft stood up and started to leave, there was suddenly a flash. The brightness from the dark of December night caught him off guard, he almost stumbled.

After three minutes and twelve seconds—in which someone can kill him within the first two. He had to be more careful—the light finally dwindled into a dim, soft blue hue and Mycroft opened his eyes. The bulky man vaguely heard his bodyguards started shouting, calling his name and asking his wellbeing. Nevertheless, he ignored them from now as his orbs caught the sight of something impossible.

On the ground in front of the tombstone, lies a man with a suit made of metal and titanium alloy, he observed. Though the thing that really caught his interest is his face.

A face that he knows _so_ well, he _choked._

This...this is _impossible._

“Sir, are you alright?!” His bodyguards ran toward him, pistol in hands, “what was that ligh—wha?”

Now Mycroft was sure he was not hallucinating because, he may be tired enough to seeing things yet not his people. Never his people who have their duty in check. Complexion turned pale, hands trembling as they tried to comprehend what really happen. Before they could ask the damning question though, their nose started twitching, gaze suddenly pierced in alarm. And after the shock of encountering something that should not even be real, Mycroft could also finally smell it.

Copper.

_Blood!_

“Gentlemen, post haste and help me bring this young man to my place!” he ordered, ignoring their confused look, asking why their owner won’t bring him to the hospital like a normal, injured person should be by their glance alone (or police. Because, _seriously_ ), “come on, faster. _Chop chop.”_

As his people scrambled around, trying to lift the unconscious man—he was heavy. Definitely because of that...armor? The exact description of that weird clothing he wears is armor—Mycroft clenched his cane and gritted his teeth. He’s a man of science. He didn’t believe in religion. Even more in _resurrection_. But God, he couldn’t help but wish.

That that man _is_ him.

That that man _is_ his late brother, Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really a plot twist, huh? I need to kill him anyway so Tony can replace him lol
> 
> ...that sounded morbid as heck :’D


	7. Chapter 7

Tony tried to gulp a breath, chest heaving a little too fast. His sight hazing in and out, body trembling; because of the cold or blood loss, maybe a bit of both. He vaguely thought he saw blue light covering his entire figure (the same color of his arc reactor—his old arc reactor—the reminder of the very first of his bad, bad decision in life). Blinding enough to jerked him awake from his slumber. As the light receded to a lightest blue, he saw thousands of stars scattered around the night sky, it was beautiful.

You couldn’t find this breath-taking scenery around America. Not with how the town itself was famous for the ‘the town that never rests’ slogan, hustle and bustle of various people clamoring across the city.

_So where is he?_

But the pain was excruciating, horrible, terrifying, hurt, hurt _hurthurtgoditfeltlikehisbodyisburning._

The last thing he saw before he lost to the dreamless land was someone hovering and hands extending towards him.

.

.

_Where is this?_

_Who are you, people?_

_Is that a scissor?_

_What do you want to do with that thing?_

_No!_ No _, let me go!_

He struggled, fruitlessly, uselessly.

This armor blocking his movement.

_Get it off._

The blur of someone waving their hands in front of his sight, trying to...placate him?

No. _No_. There’s no way. They’re trying to _hurt_ him!

_Get it off._

The blurs changed into shadows of multiple people. They held him down, shouting and ordering around, while the other cutting his chest open.

_Get it off._

The vision of that man standing above him and shield posed to attack.

_Get it off get it off get it off getitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff—_

_Get it O—_

A cool, invisible hand descended upon him; covering his wild, wandering eyes. He _gasped_ , heart beating painfully.

**_You don’t need to worry. They’re here to help you._ **

_Help—_ gulped— _help me?_

**_Yes. So, please. Rest, my child._ **

It took time. But after a minute of blind panic, his ragged breath turned shallow before it evened out. When the ghostly hand finally lifted and disappear, he could see the blurs started to calm their frantic activities, slow movement was gesture and shooting voices was uttered.

Then he knew no more.

.

.

Mycroft watched from the doorway, as one of his bodyguards wiped the blood away from the prone figure while the other cut another white roll to bandaged every large gash he could find. He thumped his cane in agitation, gaze straying from the crumpled mess of the armor suit to a face of the mysterious-and-close-to-dying man (but still alive and still breathing, not like his brother). Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

He needs a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is really, really short. Sorry :P


	8. Chapter 8

_Expensive chandelier swaying in the night breeze of September. Important people with the title, wearing the same expensive tailcoat and dress dancing slowly, following the rhythm of the melody. Idle chatter could be heard from every direction, talking anything yet nothing. Mycroft, standing in the middle of the dance floor, looking around as his shoulders slumped in defeat._

_Ah, he’s_ back.

_In a place where he lost everything._

_(In a place, where_ everything _end)_

_He didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to remember how this beautiful day closed in such a tragic way as possible. How could it happen? He still questions, even know. To what or whom, he couldn’t comprehend. Although—by his leg that moves on its own, hand extending towards one of the beautiful guest, asking her for a spin. And the woman itself giggle in acceptance, before she allowed him to pull her to the center of the attention—there’s nothing he can do. This is just a memory, he knew. Because this is not his first rodeo. Never leave him alone, no matter how he wished it be._

_A terrible,_ disgustingly _horrible memory. Yet memory all the same._

_He wants out. He really does._

_(Though maybe when a saying of ‘Guit will eat you alive’ was true—_ is _true)_

_(Or God just want to torture him. Reminding him of his biggest mistake in his whole life)_

_(A mistake, that a genius like him, could never,_ ever _fix)_

 _(A mere human like him could never,_ ever _fix)_

_Mycroft watched as his lips smile on his own while he twirled the woman, making his gorgeous red dress blossom like a rose. Watched as he chuckles at those cute, pink dust covering the white, porcelain maiden’s complexion. Watched as everyone give them a wide berth and ‘aah’ing or ‘ooh’ing for their astonishing move. Watched as he told the woman he took a lesson dance so he could impress such a charming lady like her (in which, is not true. A gentleman should know how to dance, his brother said. It’s a tradition, his brother said.)_

_Watched, as he saw the said brother went out to the balcony._

_With_ that man _following from behind._

_He should’ve listened to his instinct. Should’ve listened to the bell ringing from behind his consciousness. But he was blind. Still believe whatever information his dearest family obtained was wrong (never. He’s a meticulous man, always double-checking everything he did because a small mistake could be fatal in this job. His job). Still believe in the innocent of a man he—grudgingly accepted—as his friend._

_However, the delusion is instantly broken when_ that _argument started._

_(“Why? Why did you betray him?”)_

_(“Why did you betray_ me _?”)_

(“ANSWER ME!!”)

_The delusion is instantly broken, when that—bloody,_ **bloody!** _—_

_DOR_

_—gunshot rang._

_Everything shattered; the side window and his reality. Literally and figuratively._

_When everyone screamed in shock, Mycroft face turned pale. He ushered his brother and his bodyguards, ordered them to follow him. Though he knew, when he slammed the double door open, he was way too late._

_He saw his brother, hand hovering on the red stain that slowly creeping around his entire stomach. Saw his other hand clutching that man neck from behind. Saw, the moment their eyes met, he smiles. Sadly. Like he was asking for forgiveness._

_(When Mycroft is the one that should ask for_ his _forgiveness)_

_(For ignoring him. For leaving him alone. For being a worse brother. For not being there and protect him and—)_

_(I’m sorry I’m sorry I’msorry_ I’msorryI’mso— _)_

_“I’m sorry, Brother. Please, be happy”_

_And they fall._

_And fall, and fall, and_ fall _._

_To the coldness of the Reichenbach Fall_

_._

_._

And Mycroft eyes suddenly open.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be the longest A/N I wrote in this series. You can just skip it if you want. Have a feeling it will be way longer than the story itself lol
> 
> So, I read the Accord. And what I mean is, I googled it. I can see why team Cap won’t sign it.  
> “Always wear tracker bracelet”? “Captured without trial”? The first one is a breach of privacy and the second one is inhuman by itself.
> 
> And then I went to talk with my friend. Oohh I love that talk, man. That’s how you do debate! Neutral, building debate!! And not like those arguments you found on the internet; in which everyone just went along with their respective favorite team, closing their eyes from the team mistake and support the team till the end. Hey, I’m team Iron Man but even I tried to understand team Cap side. That’s how you do debate, think from both perspectives!
> 
> So, we have a conclusion: That team Cap is afraid because if UN gets a hold of them, they’ll be too slow to move and people will die. While team Iron Man is afraid because if superheroes have too much freedom, one wrong move and people will die. Simple as that. Either team has a valid opinion.
> 
> But then we also concluded, that law is a grey area. A.k.a it never set in stone. Meaning, you can rewrite it.  
> Personally, I think the ‘bracelet’ one is right. But maybe superheroes will have to wear it when they do their superheroes duty only and not 24/7. Because I can see the reason, that maybe one of the superheroes will try to help people without informing the UN. The bracelet will help them see which one crossing the country without permission. 
> 
> While the ‘capture without trial’ should be rewritten entirely. (was Thaddeus influencing America delegation when they write this particular rule? Cuz I know he’s not one of the UN, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t give them idea)
> 
> Oh, and about ‘registering the superheroes and have their identity revealed’? It’s good too because they need to have a responsibility whenever they destroyed buildings or something (like I said in chapter 2). But if they really have to reveal their face, maybe it should be to the UN council only and not everyone? Or to Tony, cuz he can hide their identity again, like Spiderman? 
> 
> And they should add another clause. ‘What will Avenger have to do when the trouble is a suuuper emergency, they can’t wait any longer for UN to give the permission”? Maybe the Avenger can just, contacted that president of that particular country immediately and if they give a-okay, they can cross the boundary without them having to wait for the UN? Idk, something within that line. 
> 
> That’s me and my friend personal opinion btw. Maybe other people have other good input. Cuz really, like my friend said; Law is never set in stone. You gotta rewrite it and rewrite it again whenever new superheroes with new superpower come out`3`
> 
> Okay, back to the story. Again, sorry it’s long. You can just skip it~

Mycroft thanked his butler for the breakfast—a toast with butter and earl grey tea—as he slipped the white napkin inside his collar. Morning newspaper laid at the side of the meal, featuring another crime that had happened in the middle of London city (Lestrade need to _up_ his ante. The husband was totally the criminal here. Can’t he see by the wrinkled of his collar?). He nibbled the corner of the bread, contemplating what to do today.

Maybe he can visit the man he found yesterday.

The man that has the same face as his little brother.

Something that he still wishes but now not that much. Because he can’t endure the _disappointment._

The nightmare was not helping at all, it only made him want to confirm the identity of the man in the metal suit. Who is he? How did he suddenly be there? When there’s nothing—not a peep, not a single being even—at all in the town graveyard? What was that light? Did he really suddenly appeared because of that light? And what _is_ that suit?

Because, as his bodyguards peeled the armor away one by one— _god_ , it clung to him like a nail. That must be not supposed to happen, judging from the dent that definitely came from the outer forces. It difficult to detached because they were afraid it’ll worsen his battered body already—thus he can finally see the inside of the armor, that thing did not come from here. Not from _this_ time.

Definitely _too_ advanced for years 1894.

 _Time travel?_ That was the first thing that came to his mind. But that was impossible. He never believed something that is too fantastical and too outlandish such as time travel.

Although, he mussed. As he remembered yesterday night, when he push some kind of button on the side of the metal boot and it suddenly came to life before it launched into the air and broke the ceiling. Now he was not so sure.

He sipped the tea and sighed in relaxation; Stanley always made a good tea and he thank whatever force that allowed him to get such a wonderful butler. Maybe he should. Maybe he really should check on him. At least to calm his erratic mind that need answers for all the question swirling inside it.

(Even though it’s going to hurt him. He _really_ looks like a carbon copy of Sherly)

Mycroft climbed the stair up, approaching the upper guest room. He nodded at his bodyguards that now have a role as a guardian and allowed him to come inside to meet him. When the door close though, he was startled because the said mysterious man was staring at the ceiling; unmoving and blankly.

“Sir—”

“Why?”

Mycroft stopped short as the man started to talk. He was still staring at nothing, not noticing the other person who was now watching him like a hawk “I just wanted to _help_...”

“But he _knew_. He _knew_ he killed my parents. He _knew_ but he tried to hide it...” his voice is hoarse, sobbed was torn, “am I the only one...thinking that he was my friend?”

“Why? Why why why _why why???”_

.

_(“Why did you betray me?”)_

.

Mycroft breath _hitched._

As the man cradled his face and crying softly, Mycroft tipped his hat and walked out. He disregarded his bodyguard's question, his butler sideway glance, while he practically bolted to reach his room. Hands trembled and tear threatening to fall.

He knew it was a _bad_ idea to visit the man who possessed his brother's face. It’ll just bring the bad memories out.

But Mycroft still _hopes_ anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOC? Naah doesn't think so. He just lost his brother. For good. Not some kind of tricks like in Sherlock Movies and series. So yeah. Mycroft is devastated `3`


	10. Chapter 10

It’s been a week. Been a _week_ since he decided to visit his guest and ran out like a coward he never knew he was. He never steps one foot for the past seven days, just asking his bodyguards sans guardians to never let him out of their sight and reported his wellbeing to him. They said he’s fine. Still pale and shivering like crazy, but fine nonetheless; for someone who lost half of his blood and almost punctured his lung. The mysterious man never said anything. Just staring blankly at the ceiling. Or sometimes at them, when they bring him food to eat after he was well enough to sit up and not chocking on his own saliva.

While Mycroft tried to forget their miserable encounter. Wallowing himself to finish his paperwork and things that he actually could pass on his secretaries, though decided not to. He knew the man didn’t mean to upset him, didn’t even realize Mycroft was in the room that day. But his words. _That_ word.

_(“Why did you betray me?”)_

Of course. _Of course_ , someone who basically wearing his only-family-that-now-gone-forever face has the same predicament like him. Has the same problem that led to a self-destruction like him. Like Sherlock. Like his _precious_ little brother.

Stanley poured another earl grey tea into his cup while wearing that knowing look he sometimes abhorred. And people thought his butler is just an old man in which his mind slowly deteriorating? _Wrong_. Definitely, as he assuredly said the dreaded sentences he was waiting for him to utter, “you should check on him, sir. This thing you’re doing? It’s not good for your sanity...”

Mycroft pinched his nose, “I know, Stanley. But...”

But he _can’t_. He can’t face him. He can’t _stand_ the disappointment. That, with his words alone at that day, he knew the man was _not_ his brother. He was wishing, pitifully and too desperately, for something unscientific such as miracle to happen and his only family really was resurrected. He knew it was foolish of him. Though again, he couldn’t help but hope anyway.

 _Sherly is going to laugh at me if he catches a wind about this,_ he dryly chuckled.

Mycroft sobered at that thought. Sherly. _Right_. He’ll be super disappointed if his older brother keeps this up; being gloomy and depressing, overwhelm by nonsense guilt. Sherly will be going to sit him and berated him like a mother-hen, swinging his arm around and giving him a rundown of what a real gentleman should and should not do.

He huffed, pushing himself up and straightening the collar, finally relented, “you’re right. I can’t...I can’t keep this any longer. We need to know if he’s a danger to our government. Especially with that technology of him.”

As he picked his top hat up and shouldering his trusty cane, Stanley smiled. By all means, he knows it was just a pretense. Still, Mycroft was glad Stanley let him thought otherwise. At least to calm his overwrought mind. Before he could go out from his house office though, his old butler slash companion slash the-only-person-that-stay stop him with simple words.

“You know I’ll be there for you sir.”

Body going rigid and atmosphere tense. Nobody said a thing, not a rustle of clothing, or even a sharp intake of air. Without looking back, Mycroft was out.

.

That was what _that man_ said too.

.

_(“Why did you betray me?”)_

.

Mycroft dryly chuckled.

And look what _happened._


	11. Chapter 11

He can do this. After some breathing exercise and counting any math problems his brain could think of, he walked forward. He can _do_ this. Forgoing the pleasantries to his bodyguard, Mycroft going inside the guest room. _He can do this._

The man was there, wearing his (late) brother’s clothes (and it suits him just fine _too_ ), hair mussed, eyebrows furrowed. Although not like that day before, lying still like a corpse without mind or soul, the brunette was sitting on the bed and watching the scenery outside with rapt attention.

“Please tell me I’m just hallucinating.” He finally said. Vocal cord not as hoarse as before (even his voice is the same decibel as Sherly. This is _not_ fair), “or this is really not years 2017.”

The mysterious man swiveled his head toward him. And Mycroft was caught inside that brown, tired eyes but intelligent all the same (Just _like_ him. _Bloody hell_ , whatever-God(s)-people-thought-exist. You’re a cruel, _cruel_ being). His breath snagged, fingers jerking on the top of his cane. However, he tried to calm himself down. Not now. Those bad memories of his should not be resurfaced now. Not when he finally could get an answer from Sher—from _him._

“It is not, young man. This is years 1894.” He heard the man across him groaned, rough hand wrecked the already untidy locks, “I want to say time travel is not possible, but you see the evidence.”

“Yeah. I pinched myself three times already and it still hurt no matter which place I picked,” his nose wrinkled, lips thinned, “of course you look too clever to play a trick on me. And after alien and magic proved to be true, this is not really _that_ surprising anymore.”

 _Alien?_ Mycroft held his tongue, however. Because there’s another pressing thing to ask besides the sanity of this mysterious man, “my name’s Mycroft Holmes. And you’re...”

The man blinked and mouth agape like he was seriously considering if Mycroft was jesting him or not. Though he snapped his finger in realization, “oh yeah. You don’t know me. Pretty weird but refreshing at the same time. Name’s Anthony Edward Stark. But called me Tony. ‘cuz Stark is my fa—J...just called me Tony.”

 _Right_. He was talking about the demise of his parents that day. He’ll not go down that road (because Mycroft himself still can’t release his own despair from the loss of his family. The nightmare _really_ didn’t help the case. It just kept reminding him to gaze into the abyss and _look at this, this is your fault he’s gone_ ). And judging by his words, this ‘Tony Edward Stark’ seems like a distinguished person. Understandable, “if it’s not a nuisance, can I ask how did you come to this era? Why this place?” ‘ _why in front of Sherly tomb?_ ’ and ‘ _why using Sherly’s face?_ ’. But he was conscious enough not to utter the last two question.

“I don’t know. If I do, I’m going to go back to that day and save them.” Tony murmured the latter part of his saying. Mycroft can hear it just fine, however.

“Are you sure? Nothing to remember at all?”

“Yeah. I don’t think—“ yet he stopped himself, mind whirring in contemplation as his eyelids slowly widened, “...shit.”

“Pardon?”

“No! _No_! Nothing. Just...a ridiculous thought, is all!” he clamped his face in one hand, mouthing something inaudible besides ‘Thor’, ‘Heimdall’, ‘Death is real?’ he indistinctly heard. Tony snorted, the gesture sounds tired and bitterly accepting, “so...um? Do you need something?”

Mycroft was silent for a couple of seconds, contemplating the sudden change of conversation. Should he accept it? He weighed his option but decided to face the real problem. Since, even if he know how someone from the future suddenly deserted in the past, it will not change the fact that the man is already here, “are you a danger towards British Government, Mr. Tony?”

As the man, again, shocked, Mycroft continues, “I saw your armor,” Tony tensed in apprehension, “do not be alarmed, I didn’t destroy it. Well, I touch one of the boot and still haven’t fixed the hole on the ceiling, but it stays as ‘good’ as before.”

Tony flinched, definitely heard the quote-unquote from the sentences of ‘good’. Based on the context of that other day talk, he knew who’s the real culprit for the damages the armor sustained. The devastating blows, too much it basically tore into the wearer (but he couldn’t comprehend how did they do that. The armor is strong, Mycroft tried to damage it by smacking his cane as hard as he could. And the only thing that happened was, he needs another sheath to cover the hidden swords). Yet, he held his question because he knew Tony will not answer it. Not for a long while.

“No, I’m not, Mr. Holmes.” Tony surely answered, “can’t really move with my condition like this. And that armor is junk, for the lack of better words. The power is already off.”

Mycroft hummed. He stood up from the stool and tip his head downward, “then I’ll leave you to your rest. Please be assured that you can stay until you’re healthy enough to move. Until then.”

“Wait!” he stopped on his track and turned around. Watching Tony wrought his fingers and biting the bottom part of his lips, “Was...was it you...that...the other day—“

_Is he talking about that daze talk of him?_

But he seems to come to his sense when he shook his head and tried to give a smile. It looked like a grimace though, with that pale complexion of his while sweat keeps rolling down the side of his temple, “t-thank you for saving me. I owe you one.”

.

_(“He help me brother, so I owe him one”)_

.

Mycroft gulped.

“Don’t mention it, Mr. Tony. Please rest.” As he closed the door then climbed down the stair, he wiped the tired look on his face and sighed wearily.

At least that went well.


	12. Chapter 12

As Mycroft closed the door behind him, Tony fell back down on the bed with a thump. He wheezed and coughed, almost frantically punching his lung for it to work and do it job. After ten seconds that felt too long for his liking, Tony could finally relax. That was stupid of him. He knew his condition is not up top, body trembling as sweat rolling down profusely. But he need answer.

And what an _answer_ it turned out to be.

“1894...” he wryly laughed, “ _fucking_ insane...”

Here he thought that dream of him floating in the dark and talking with whatever creature out there was just that. A dream. A weird dream but dream nonetheless. Though alien and god are real. Of course, Death is going to be a supernatural being too. And not just some sort of euphemism.

He really should’ve stopped questioning Thor.

“This is not what I thought when you said ‘ _rest_ ’...” he mumbled, arm resting on his forehead and closing his eyes, “at least send me back to my own time, God dammit...”

Still, while he stared at the ceiling and watching the light bulb swaying in the morning air. Maybe he should thank the Death. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. That this is exactly what he wants. Rest. Away from the media. Away from the responsibilities. Away from the accusation.

Away from the _betrayal_.

Tony bit his own lips, trying to muffle the choked sob that suddenly erupted from the back of his throat. No. He can’t. He can’t keep thinking of them. Thinking of how they turned their back on him the second he tried to fix his mistakes. How they pushed him away as easily as flipping a hand. How they thought he didn’t have a heart and they can just...hacked him again and again and _again_ like a malfunctioning robot and not a human being.

But his parents. _God_ , his parents.

The universe really knows what best to strike him and crumpled him to a mere toy without a string. _Fucking_ beautiful.

Tony roamed his eyes around the room. A small cupboard near his bedrest and a big lamp draped with intricate laces. A carpet-that-look-like-a-rug-but-must-be-expensive-in-this-time laid around the tiled floor (marble? This Mycroft is kinda rich then). And a bookcase full of ancient tomes. (definitely tomes. Never see books that thick before, not after he passed his college).

He got up, winced when his chest jumped-off, tingling and constricting, yet still pushed on. He knew he overstayed his wake, his body practically begged him to stay in soft, soft bed albeit the warning was a little too painful. Nonetheless, his wobbly leg finally reached the destination after ten minutes too long for such a short distance and picked one of the books (‘History of British’). If he wanted to stay informed in a time of no internet (blasphemy!) and no JAR—FRIDAY, he has to work his ass off.

Because, that what he does best, right? Working till the dark of night and faint from exhaustion?

Not helping with the so-called friend, _however_.

So, with the help of sunlight and listening to the murmur of activities outside, Tony Stark started to read.


	13. Chapter 13

Mycroft didn’t want to. Not if there was no emergency happening. Talking with Tony Stark made a lot of guilt resurfaced (I can’t save you I’m sorry I’m _sorryI’msorry_ ) and the strangled feeling was too much (they have so many resemblances. God forbid, you really _love_ to torture me, aren’t you?). Still, Stanley insisted anyway—really, that old cot can be super demanding sometimes.

So he went. The day after tomorrow. He knocked on the door and waited for the response. The man heard some noises from inside ( _rustling. Books? Shuffling. Him, moving around the bed?)_ before ‘come in!’ was uttered behind the mahogany door. Mycroft stepped inside, rested his cane on the side of the door then let his eyes wander.

( _a dim light, crooked rug, not the same order he remembered, the end of the blanket is on the floor, too thick—)_

“Oh, hi Mr. Holmes.” he snapped his gaze back to his guest ( _face too pale, too much sweat, hand on his chest—_ ). Tony grinned. A charming, little grin as he chirped, “nice to see you here. You look great!”

“I am. Finished my job early today. And you look too sick for someone who rests all day, Mr. Tony.” The said brunette tried to open his mouth and maybe said some excuses. But Mycroft lifted his hand to shut him up and let him talk for a chance, “no need, Mr. Tony. I know you’ve been out from your bed and read some book the whole night. But you know that you should not overwork yourself. Your lung and various of injuries on your body still need to heal.”

Tony’s mouth kept opening and closing for a few seconds, “I...how did _you_ know?!” but it seems like it was a futile effort to dance his way around already, so he opted to tell the truth, “you’re not here yesterday or the day before! And your bodyguards didn’t _even_ know I’m doing an all-nighter!”

Mycroft gave him a look that said he was disappointed with Tony for doing that stupid thing; because he’s sick and he needs his rest. Tony flushed in embarrassment, “well...judging from your blanket that five inches too low from the previous condition, it touches the floor—don’t even bother to say that maybe you move around in your sleep. Because I asked my bodyguard to tucked it inside the bed frame so it’ll not fall out—the rug near the bed rest was moved a little to the right, the lamp on the cupboard is still hot even though I didn’t ask my bodyguard to leave it on.  And the book from the second to the right is not in the right order—it should be ‘History of British’, ‘Various amazing place to visit in the various world’, ‘How to create a cure and poison’, ‘World politic’ and ‘The making of weapons’. Instead, ‘World politic’ is on the third column and ‘History of British’ is on the fifth column—I can assure you that you move out from your bed, stumbling a bit and almost fall to your face, to claimed some book to read and forget to turn off the lamp before I came here because you’re too immersed in your reading, you basically pull, what you call, an all-nighter. Oh, I see there’s a missing book in the very last section—‘Flora and Fauna. Advantages and Disadvantages”—so, fearing for my wrath of reading my books without permission, you then hide it inside the blanket.”

A quick explanation later, Mycroft realized Tony’s jaw opened.

“Duudee....” he breathed, after a second of silent and orbs in a brink of amazement. Tony pulled out the book from beneath the cover and put in on his lap, still staring at Mycroft and smiling so wide, he worried Tony will hurt his own cheeks, “that was...so _fucking_ sick!! _How did you do that??”_

And Mycroft, not used to open admiration after his usual little’ show’, just blinked.


	14. Chapter 14

From that day onward, there is always a stack of books near Tony so he didn’t have to get out from his bed just to read some. And Mycroft also ordered his bodyguard to check on his guest and ordered him to sleep, much to the chagrin of the said brunette.

.

“You’re _awfully_ calm for a person who got time traveled without his consent, Mr. Tony.”

“I told you to call me Tony, My. Adding mister makes it too formal!” he closed the book he read and went for another one, “and besides like you said, I got deserted here without my consent so I don’t know how to go back. I’m going to stay at this time for a long while so I have to stay updated on whatever happens to blend with the crowd.”

“Wise judgment...”

.

“In my time, people call me a Genius, Billionaire, Philanthropist and a Playboy. True, but I’m more of an engineer type of guy. Give me the right materials and I can basically make anything. _Not_ bragging.”

“Sure you’re not.” Mycroft lift one of his eyebrows in disbelief yet humoring him anyway, “engineer though? So, you really create that armor? Alone?”

“Yup. The very first prototype was made by basically scrap of metals and not as sophisticated as the one you see. I made it in a cave without nothing but junks anyway, my option was limited.”

That sounds like an interesting story to hear, though Mycroft didn’t ask anyway. Because he has this look again. Of someone trying to make a light of thing even though it was tearing him apart from inside

(The same look Mycroft see every day on the mirror)

.

“I work for the government.”

“Yeah. Pretty much know it after you asked me if I’m a danger to your city. But—“

“That’s all I can say, Tony.”

“Aaaww, _stingy~”_

.

“I have— _had_ friends there. There’s Pepper—her name is Virginia Potts but I called her Pepper because he sprayed pepper on my bodyguard just so she could see me—you’ll love her. She’s feisty and super scary. There’s Happy, the bodyguard that I said got peppered by Pepper, my chauffeur and my friend. There’s Rhodey, my best friend from college, still asking why he stay with a person like me. Especially after—“

However, he clamped on his own word. And Mycroft, again, didn’t ask.

.

“I have a butler. His name is Stanley. He basically served our family for generation and already an old man.”

“But still kick asses?”

“Indeed he is”

.

“I also have a maid. A robot maid. An artificial intelligent, actually. I called her FRIDAY. Yeah, I can’t name anything for the life of me, _don’t judge.”_

“Artificial Intelligent?”

“Oh right. This era tech is not _that_ advanced. So, artificial intelligence or AI for short is...”

.

Tony fetched the drink up (after Mycroft put it on the table and wait in anxiety when the man didn’t pick it up _right away_ ) as he hacked and coughed, wheezed and choked. He kept his grip steady even though his body was trembling all around. When he completely swallowed the water and cooling his hot lung, Tony could sigh in relief.

“T-Thank you, My...”

“Don’t mention it, Tony.” He accepted the empty glass, plucking the book from his lap and store it on the stack, “now rest. It’s been two weeks already. If you keep pushing yourself, your injuries won’t start healing.”

“But—“

“No, Tony. You don’t have to feel obligated to pay me for taking care of you. Just rest.”

And Tony nodded, albeit shakily, before he lost to the exhaustion.

.

_“Teach me!”_

Mycroft pushed his eyebrows up.

“That trick of yours!!”

“You mean that explanation of how I know you’re pulling another all-nighter?”

“I didn’t know you can even see the difference from the lamp cord. I just pushed it three centimeters away, for God sake...” Tony grumbled, “but yeah, that! Teach me how!”

“Like I said before, Tony. You just need to observe. You’re a genius. You know how to observe.”

_“Show off!”_

.

.

“Do you ever want to go back?”

“...”

“...no.”

_(But I have to anyway)._


	15. Chapter 15

Tony stared at Mycroft, who sits on the stool amicably and patiently, fingers rubbing his goatee and brows furrowed in thought. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again. Before he pointed his finger at him and started talking.

“That hat of yours is a different shade than yesterday. I can see a stain on the cuff of your coat...maybe you’re doing your work and accidentally spilled” Tony sniffed, ”your tea? Earl Grey tea? Or Darjeeling? I don’t really know about tea, Brucie is the avid fan of it, I _prefer_ coffee. So you change your hat but not your suit because the dark color kinda masked it. Then judging from the mud on your sole and cane, you went out for a while to grab this newspaper?” he said, asked actually, as he showed him the paper beside his bed.

Mycroft was silent for a while, Tony fidgeted. Before a small smile gracing his wrinkle feature, “pretty good. You learned _fast_.”

Tony grinned, all teeth and wide, chest puffing in achievement. Mycroft dusted the invisible grit away from his coat then continues, “the tea I drank this morning is earl grey, they have a different smell. And if you read yesterday newspaper, you know that there’s a building construction three block from here. And because it’s raining from the last three days, mud was covering the site. I passed that place to grabbed some fresh bread—it obscured, but you can faintly smell it, right?” he said, when Tony started sniffing again and eyebrows rose in realization, “and of course, like you guessed, I also grabbed a newspaper.”

“Why not asked your bodyguards to do the job?” the brunette asked, picked the paper and start reading the headline (a murder— _fucking_ again? The rate of crime in this time almost rivaled his—happened in the back street of Sanderling. Just a mere robber, the police concluded, by the loss of his wallet. But that watch the victim have looks expensive. If it was a robbery, why not snatch it to pawn it off and get some money? Not the usual, _petty_ crime then).

“I need to stretch my leg. Working on a bunch of paperwork can do you wonder after a while,” Tony snorted in agreement. He knew that feeling, kinda the reason of why he passed the CEO title on Pepper (and he was dying at that time too. So it’s a bonus), “and, as you can see from the headline, I decided to help Lestrade to crack the case and catch the perpetrator before she decided to flee to the next country this night by renting a small yacht.”

“ _Definitely_ a murder then.”

“You noticed?”

“The watch.” Mycroft hummed, he sounded satisfied.

“It is. The motive of the murder is, the man on the paper was caught cheating by his wife. Then, in a bout of jealousy, she killed him. I know it was his wife because I smell a different cologne, both on his collar and cufflink, that’s also the reason why I know he was cheating. And I know he has a wife because there’s a ring mark on his ring finger, he hid it away so the second woman didn't know he has a wife”

“But get caught anyway, both by his wife and the mistress.” Tony continued, pinching his nose, “I’m not gonna comment on this tragedy, that was like calling pot kettle black.”

“Indeed it is.”

He harrumphed, offended, “you know, My. You should become a police investigator than working with the government. Or a detective, that sounds cool too. Have you ever thought about that?”

“I am, but I lack the energy and inclination to do that. I prefer to sit at my table and signing the paper away.”

“ _Pft_ , ‘course you’re. You’re going to get fat after a while, My.” The said man just smile, ignoring the jab. Tony flipped another page, “maybe I should do it. I’m not the type to just wasted away on the table like you do. Well, if I’m not doing a project to finish. I like going out.”

.

_(“I like to meet new people, brother. I can’t just stay inside the house and read books only”)_

.

Mycroft exhaled, butterfly fluttering inside his apprehensive stomach, “I’m sure you’re going to be a great investigator, Tony.”

“You bet I _am_ ~”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY BIGGEST THANKS TO --TheTrueTrashKing-- FOR UR AWESOME BETA!!!!
> 
> Really, thank you so much XD

Mycroft life got a little brighter after the arrival of one Tony Stark. Still beating himself up for his past failures ( _what could his observing skill do when you couldn’t even see past the mask_ ‘that man’ _wear? Or maybe he did notice but decided to ignored it because, no matter how much he denied it, he did treat_ him _like a friend he always wish to have—_ had), but the smile of one brunette, the enthusiasm of him learning anything new and the giddy energy he spent talking his mouth off always make Mycroft smile, albeit a little bit.

Because it reminded him of the past.

Reminded him of _someone_ he cherished.

Someone that is _lost_ to him. But always remembered and prayed for.

Mycroft heart panged whenever he looked at him. Saw how his gesture, his eyes, even his smile resembled him. Wished for time to roll back to give him the chance to save him. Let him hug and caress him like a big brother is supposed to be. But then those intelligent orbs would lock on their own and the reality _crashed_ like a thousand pieces.

Tony is not Sherlock. But _bloody hell,_ his past life was not that rainbow and sunshine, just like him.

Because, besides of the lull of the daily life, full of bickering and reading new content, there also exist this night.

_“NOOOOO!!!!”_

A night where Mycroft will jolt out from his bed, scrambling to get up and run almost frantically to the guest room. Halting his bodyguards when they tried to proceed and his butler when he tried to accompanied him; saying to them that he would handle the problem himself. When he steps into the room and looks at the darkening figure across the aisle, his stomach churn in apprehension.

The night where Tony, tangled inside the blanket, batted away the invisible attacker; eyes widened in dread and heartbeat faster than a normal human should be.

Mycroft will try to calm him down, will try to wake him up from living a nightmare that is not supposed to be real (or _is it?_ There was _no way_ a mere dream could traumatize him into a corner like that; like a frightened animal in distress. Like a frightened animal cornered by his _own_ pack. And didn’t that fell like a swift punch to the gut?). Nonetheless, Tony will push him away, will back away so fast he makes Mycroft worry he pulled a muscle. Will then tuck his body as small as his adult figure could be. Wailing and crying and sobbing and _choking_.

The night where even Mycroft, the genius he is, can’t seem to solve.

So he will just sit there, clenching and unclenching his trembling hand. Watching, as Tony tries to calm down his irregular breath to a normal pace. Mumbling and shaking in terror, it was hurt to see.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m _weak_. I’m sorry I can’t save you. Please... _please_ don’t kill me. I’m just trying to _help_...”

Mycroft hates when this nights came.

.

.

Of all the thing he despised the most was when the morning approached. When Tony would smile and laughed like he always did. Hiding his fear with a mask of snark and confidence. While inside he begs for someone to save him. To save him from the torment and the heartache of the past.

.

_Please. I beg you. Please, save me!_

_._

He _hates_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should’ve stopped getting immersed when I’m writing. Well...at least I’m not crying. My throat hurt for trying not to cry like a baby tho’ :P


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by TheTrueTrashKing

“I have— _had_...a brother”

Tony’s hand stilled on the edge of the paper and angled his head to see Mycroft doing a breathing exercise. He looked weary all of a sudden, wrinkles more pronounced and eyelids drooping, “I had a brother.”

“He was a genius. Brilliant. Had observational skills just like me, but I’m definitely way superior than him,” the brunette snorted. Of course, Mycroft would try to brag; whether it be to tell everyone to not underestimate him or trying to lighten the sudden, heavy and _oppressive_ mood, “he loved to read, to obtain new knowledge, and to meet new people.”

“He was a soldier,” Tony raised his eyebrows on that, “no. I didn’t ask him to be one. I actually wanted him to work as my secretary. You  know, for his....safety...”

Tony nodded. He knew that feeling. From when he had asked Rhodey to be his personal assistant ( _“please, I don’t want you to hurt yourself._ _The Air Force is dangerous. Please...”)_ but of course he couldn’t stop him so he tried to produced more powerful, bigger and dangerous weapon to protect him (they protected him indeed and killed many other innocent people as well). When he asked Pepper to take a break because he became a hero _(“I’m in dangerous territory_ _now, I don’t want to involve you in my own selfishness”)_ and sighed in relief when Pepper accepted even though his heart broke into pieces but she’s safe and he’s okay with this _nohewasnotwhatahypocrite._

“I tried to protect him in my own way. I often asked his superiors to assign him to bodyguard duty” Mycroft held his face with one hand, hiding the exhausted look from view, “I failed....”

Tony gulped, fingers tangling with his others, trying to accumulate a courage to ask the dreaded question, “...how did he...”

“He...was betrayed. By his friend.”

And Tony’s world _crashed_ to the ground.

.

_“He’s my friend.”_

_._

_“So was I”_

.

“Tony... _TONY_!” he jerked, never realized when his breathing turned ragged and sweats rolling down the side of his temple. His wild, brown eyes snapped back to reality, seeing his rescuer hovering in front of him; looking like he was trying to grabbed his shoulder to shook him awake but decided against it, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“No...no don’t worry...” He exhaled, calming his aberrant heart. They sat there in awkward silence for the whole five minutes, not knowing what to say; they didn't need pity from each other, that much they knew. When Tony  was sure he wouldn’t go into another panic attack, he uttered a question in small, almost whisper, “why are you telling me this?”

Mycroft bit his lip, unsure. However, determination flashed on his black orbs as he stared into Tony’s own brown and spoke, “because you’re not alone. I don’t know what happened in your past—future? But here? I’m _not_ going to let anyone hurt you.”

.

_“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m weak. I’m sorry I can’t save you. Please...please don’t kill me. I’m just trying to help...”_

.

_Not again._

.

.

Tony cried that night. But Mycroft didn’t point out his reddened eyes the next morning and he was glad for it.

.

.

“In my time...we _have_ superheroes...”

When Mycroft stared in disbelief, Tony scoffed, “I’m not kidding. When I said ‘alien’ and ‘god’, it was true. My era—my reality—is weird as fuck. We have superheroes and villains as daily basis and magic as the dessert. No, _seriously_. Stop looking at me like I’m crazy. I’m _crazy_ , but crazy-genius. Not crazy-crazy. You know the difference? Crazy-genius has eleven letters while crazy-crazy—“

“ _Yes_ , Tony. I understand”

Tony huffed, glad that Mycroft’s smile was back at least but, as his shoulders dropped, he knew the next conversation would not be as smooth sailing, “we have this group of superheroes called ‘The Avengers’ that was under the jurisdiction of SHIELD; some kind of spy group that government built. You know what I mean? I’m sure yours have one. But then it was revealed that SHIELD got infiltrated by HYDRA—the other spy group but it belongs to villain, for lack of better words—and SHIELD was no more. The Avengers became an independent group and society started to fear us. Then the tragedy of Sokovia happened...”

And Mycroft just sat there, watching in silence as Tony re-told—not all of it, but he could fill in the blanks anyway—his past.

.

_“Because you’re not alone.”_

.

_I’m not alone_

.

.

“Can I ask...what was your brother’s name?”

“...”

“It was Sherlock”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by TrueTrashKing

Mycroft walked between the crowd, trying to approach the main show, while his two bodyguards flanked him glancing around at any person who dared to look at him funny—you can never be too careful, a hitman could hide, even in the throng of the unsuspicious people like this. Another tragedy happened in London it seems. Finally, he saw several officers trying to stir away the curious onlookers. One of them noticed him and saluted—he nodded back—and allowed him to get the first-row seat.

“Good morning, Lestrade. How’s the investigation going?”

“Nothing unusual has happened yet, sir,” Lestrade answered. He gestured for Mycroft to inspected the crime scene. A woman wearing a white gown and a white, large hat was half-tied around her chin was dangling at the bottom of the bridge; a suicide, it seems the polices thought so at least( _The front of her gown is drenched. Rain? But the back of it is dry—),_ “just a normal depressed civilian ending her life. It was an _unfortunate_ tragedy”

“Hmm... _really_?” he mussed and crouched down, trying to look at the corpse more carefully _(claw marks on her neck, the gown too crisp, and the side of the bridge was dry like the back of her dress)._ He saw some of the law enforcement trying to collect the body from the bottom, riding in a small boat.

“Is- is it not a suicide, Mr. Holmes?”

At least Lestrade had finally come to believe him whenever he spoke his suspicions, Mycroft smiled at that. He knew the man was just trying to finish his job as efficiently as possible, but Lestrade was just a man after all—Mycroft supposed he himself is too, but he’s a man _with_ intelligent so there’s the difference—and needed input from another perspective. Of course, Mycroft with nothing to do and curiosity at its peak would gladly help. Mycroft stood up and started to open his mouth.

Before the images of Tony smiling and reading books flashed inside his mind, and he stopped.

_Maybe..._

“What if I told you the answer after you finish the investigation, asking her family and friends for their alibis and such?” he tipped his head forward, a silent gesture of him going back to his humble abode, “I’ll inform you of the result.”

“Ah, _yes_! Mr. Holmes. Thank you for your opinion!” he saluted again; Lestrade is such a stoic man, he needs to relax for a bit.

Telling his bodyguards that he finished his work here, Mycroft hummed. Maybe he could ask Tony to solve this case, in his stead. His observational skill keeps advancing in a steady rise, he could even say that they were up to his standard already. Knowing him, the brunette must’ve finished reading all the books and was now doing anything to keep his brain running and body moving. Tony is basically a child _trapped_ inside an adult body, absorbing every new thing as fast as a sponge absorbing water.  

Yes. It seems like a good idea.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo...this chapter is not beta. I already sent the file to my betaer and they haven't answer yet and I'm kinda worried cuz it's been 10 days. I hope it was just something mundane, like, they have exams or something (cuz I also will have my exams tomorrow. That's why I decided to update now before this start to bug my mind cuz it's been on my laptop since...long ago)
> 
> Sorry for the grammar mistakes u'll find `3`
> 
> Edit: It's beta now~~
> 
> Betaed by TrueTrashKing

“55...56... _57_...”

“What are you doing?”

Tony jolted swiveling his head up, looking at the incredulous expression Mycroft donned on his face raising one eyebrow, as if silently asking his activities. Or his stupidity. No, definitely his stupidity.

“Push-ups?”

“I know. But why are you doing push-ups while you’re _not_ even healthy enough to stand up?”

“That’s why I’m doing push-ups and not squat-jumps?”

Mycroft’s deadpan stare unnerved him.

“No, really Mycroft I’m better already!” the brunette jumped up from his position. However, he swayed when a sudden headache attacked him and his sight blurred for a second. He didn’t know how long he stood there, dazed, trying to get his bearing back. But when he finally came through, Mycroft was standing nearly too close for comfort, steadying him with hands clasping tightly on his tense shoulders. He shook him off, showing a smile even though he felt like grimacing, “see? I’m okay!”

The bulky man in a top hat only rolled his eyes, cane thumping the floor in agitation, “No you’re not. Your brain just experienced loss of oxygen. You were in a catatonic state for a whole twenty seconds!”

“Twenty seconds is not _that_ long~” Tony pouted.

“Tony...”

Uh oh. The warning tone was back. His was just as scary as Pepper’s at that.

“But, Mycroft I’m _fucking_ bored!!” he threw his hands up, trying to gesture his frustration with as much dramatization as he possibly could achieve, “It’s, what? Two months? Almost three? I already read all of your books. And unless you have new ones or you allow me to visit a library near your home, I’m not gonna stay inside the room and rot like a fungus!”

Mycroft sighed, shaking his head in fondness, “You’re just like Sherly...”

“Hm?”

“No. Forget what I said.” He immediately backtracked. Before Tony could ask any more questions (he’s always curious, always wanting to know, always wanting some answer, always alw _aysalwaysjustlikehim_ ), Mycroft produced papers from his belt and put it on the table (he knows not to give anything to him, not directly), “if you’re that bored, help me solve this case.”

“Case?” Tony eyed the paper for a whole minute, touch it with his index finger, seemingly testing it for something (what was it, he didn’t know. And that topic was included in one of ‘forbidden to talk because you’ll just give him panic attack’ topics so Mycroft never tried to breach it. Not for now at least.) before he grabbed it and flip through the yellow parchment, “‘A suicide on the London Bridge’? The victim was found dangling this morning by a fisherman, at first he thought it was just someone clothes that got snatched up by the December wind but realized it was an actual person, bla bla bla, _come on._ The culprit is definitely her friend. You know the result already.”

“I am”

_“So—“_

“But do you know how they killed her ?”

Tony silence was the answer enough. Mycroft huffed winningly, as he turned back from the thinking genius, lips unknowingly start to form a full-blown smile, “just tell me when you solved the case and I’ll send you the new one. Well...the unsolved case from years ago but you can still catch the perpetrator because the statute of limitation is still up in the air”

“Fine...” Tony grumbled, before he perked up, “I want a credit for this though!”

“Okay. I’ll call Lestrade and said that a young man name To—“

“Not with _my_ name!” Mycroft stopped on his track and whirled around, watching a plethora of emotion flashed on the handsome but tired face, “not with my real name. You know the theory of alternate universe we talked before? That the future will change with people choosing different choices in the past? I don’t want my future get wreck because there are two Tony. Well, maybe it will just branch the path into another different reality, but you never know. Better safe than sorry.”

_Badump_

Mycroft swallowed, “Then...what do you proposed?”

Tony hummed, sat down on the edge of the bed, “I don’t know. Got an idea? You work for the government, you've met a lot of people. Maybe I can use some names that are not in the archive anymore? Some...you know...faceless, missing or—well—dead people?”

_Badump_

_Badump_

“What about...” Mycroft licked his chapped lips.

.

_(“I can do this, brother. Just believe in me, you know?”)_

.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m _sorryI’msorryI’msorry_

.

“Sherlock?”

 .

_Badump_

.

.

“What about Sherlock Holmes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...u realize why I made the real Sherlock as a soldier and not a detective now? :D


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by TrueTrashKing

Tony stared at the photo inside Mycroft wallet in shock.

It was _him_. The face that smiled at Mycroft in earnest was _him_.

Sherlock Holmes had a face just like _him_.

(Well, besides his unruly hair and untidy goatee. But it was _him_ nonetheless)

He swiveled his gaze on Mycroft. While the said man was sitting on the stool and flipping the pages of the book, trying not to stare back at the incredulous and questioning glance Tony was throwing  at him, “if you do decide to use Sherlock’s name, it’ll be easy to hide your identity because I already have all the documents; birth certificate, diploma, job applications and so on. I never informed anyone about the… death of my little brother—besides my bodyguards and my butler, but they won’t tell. I swear on you—so I can claim that, after the last bodyguard duty I assigned to you, you were in a coma for all the injuries. I sent you to America for medical treatment and you just woke up one month ago, hence explaining why your speech has an American accent in it.”

“But—“ Tony was still speechless (how? He never know his ancestor with the name of ‘Holmes’. It was always ‘Stark’. How could _this_ Sherlock and him have the same face?) though he shook his head and tried to face the main problem first, “but what about his co-worker? Surely they remember _him_?”

Mycroft was silent. A very unnerving silent and Tony prepared for the worse, “the friend who betrayed him... _killed_ them all.”

Tony took in a large breath, it hurt.

“It was a disaster, last year. His...ex-friend massacred all of them and the officers couldn’t even arrest him because he was not the type to dirty his own hands. There was no evidence, but I knew it was him.” Mycroft closed the book. Undoubtedly, he was just pretending and not even reading. He practically memorized the whole pages word by word, no use to read it for the second time. He had just adopted the book for a distraction, albeit a poor one, “When I said my brother was lost to him, he didn’t just lose in shame. He brought him down with him. So you don’t have to worry about this ex-friend of my little brother trying to hunt you for revenge.”

“...I sense a ‘but’ in there, Mycroft.”

Mycroft sighed. Trust Tony to identify the problem right that instant, “he had—has? I don't know—a subordinate, a sniper. Name’s Sebastian Moran. Even after a year, I still can’t find his whereabouts, and because he knew my brother was the one who killed his mentor...”

Silence.

“Listen, Tony. That’s okay if you don’t want to take a risk. I can—“

“I accept.”

Mycroft was startled, not expecting the positive answer. He swung his attention, locked his sight on the fired up brown orbs as Tony _grinned_ , “did you forget I’m a genius, billionaire, philanthropist and a playboy, Mycroft? Getting hunted by jealousy _and_ revenge are practically breakfast to me. And besides, I’m a superhero. I can protect myself!”

“So, I accept.” He smiled. A small, yet confident, little upturn of lips. Gaze full of understanding, Mycroft’s heart clenched (It’s not a pity. Tony really _does_ understand. How many times he wished when he woke up, JARVIS voice will greet him and not FRIDAY; not that he hated FRIDAY (It was the same feeling of a mother missing her first child that was away from home to study abroad, even when she still has the comfort of her second child). How many times did he wish that Vision was JARVIS and not an entirely different being? How many times he was confronted by the disappointment that JARVIS was long gone and it’s his own fault your _faultyourfault_ ) “I’m sorry I wasn’t your brother when you found me and saved me. And I’m sorry I can’t even replace your brother in the first place, but...will you accept me as one? I can always be the illegitimate, twin brother with the same name.”

And, with Mycroft engulfed in Tony’s embrace, he cried silently; no tears, not even a sob.

It may be a poor replacement, but he thought; Maybe. _Just_ maybe.

With this...Sherlock will forgive his failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that, in Sherlock movie 2, Moriarty massacred a lot of people with that bomb of his? Even tho’ he did that to camouflage his real victim? Yeah, I’m just gonna pretend that, for this story, real Sherlock’s friends in the army were there as their bodyguards. And so, they’re all dead too `3`


	21. Chapter 21

" _Solved it!"_

Tony slammed the door open, swinging the paper in his hands like a child presenting his parents with an excellent exam score. He abruptly stopped when he heard a grunt though, and realized that there were other people standing outside his room; two tall, broad-shouldered people wearing black coats (and guns strapped to their belts. It's hidden. But living with two spy-slash-assassin trained him to look for anything that counted as suspicious), "oh...are you two Mycroft's bodyguards? Oops. Sorry about that."

The one who was unfortunate enough to stand behind the door just grunted back. Tony was just going to pretend that he accepted his apology and proceeded to step out. But the other one grasped is wrist; not too tightly so Tony knew he was not in trouble, "are you sure you're healthy enough to walk around, sir Tony?"

" _Yup_! Can't you see how great I look?"

Well, no actually. He knew his face still looked pale ( _breath, lung._ Fucking _breath!)_  and his hands were going clammy way too fast even though the December air was cooled enough to freeze you in one breath. Still, he can stand up without legs threatening to tumble down. And he could do fifty or so push-ups yesterday so it was a  _huge_  improvement!

The bodyguard (he's going to call the worried one 'Mum'. So by default, the hurting one will be called 'Dad'. Whoever said that Tony was good at naming people? If they did, that person was lying of course) narrowed his eyes, orbs roaming around his entire figure (and if mum was a girl, he would be wiggling his eyebrows and flirting back at her, asking her if she likes the view). Before he decided that Tony told a half-truth but a truth nonetheless, so he released his grip, "Sir's room is on the first floor, at the very end of the corridor. Don't push yourself and call Sir Stanley if you need help."

"Okay,  _mum_ ~" Tony chirped and skipped down the stair, leaving the incredulous Mum gaping after him (this is why Tony loved nicknaming practically everyone. Their reactions always make him laugh). He finally met the famous butler, pouring another cup of tea—Darjeeling today—waved, while giving his famous one-hundred-megawatt smile. The moment he approached the room and without knocking like a polite guest supposed to do, he slammed the door open and shouted, "My! I did it!"

For the second times, Tony has to stop himself before he's running his mouth off. Because he realized there are other people besides his savior standing around his desk.

But Tony is always good with improvisation. Ignoring the questioning gaze those two officers threw at him, "My,  _Mycroft_ , what are you doing now? Associating with the good officer? Do I need to hide a body for you again?" Tony said, slung his arm over the one on the right.

Mycroft chuckled, "no, I'm not. Since when have I killed people, Sherlock?"

Oh, so one of them is Lestrade then. The act started now. Tony—Sherlock grinned and coughed (he visited British before for signing an agreement with other company. He hope his British accent is still up for an encore), "maybe? I mean, you solved so many cases, you didn't even leave one for me" he sulked.

Before Mycroft could respond, the police officer he rested half of his body on gently lifted his arm and gazed at him suspiciously, "who's this, sir?"

"Oh right, you haven't meet him yet. Gentleman, this is my little brother, Sherlock Holmes. He's an ex-soldier but because of an accident, he was in a coma for a whole year and just woke up a month ago." Tony gave a little salute, the officers still looked at him warily, "Sherly, this gentleman here is Inspector G. Lestrade and Constable Clark. They're here to ask me about the 'suicide' on the London bridge."

Ton—Sherlock perked up, "oh! Oh! Choose me! I solved the case~"

The polices was startled by the revelation but Mycroft just chuckled, "of course you did. You actually solved it yesterday, aren't you?"

To— _Sherlock_! He needs to call himself Sherlock from now on,  _goddammit_! Remember that!—grumbled half-heartedly, "sorry that I overslept. I can't help it, you know. Blame my weakened body."

"Wait, wait a second, sir!" Mycroft and Tony turned around, facing the still weirded inspector, " _he_...solved the case?"

As the sentence was muttered, the Holmes brothers stared at each other for a second too long(Tony, silently asking permission to demonstrate and Mycroft allowing him. "Stay in character!", "But I don't know how your brother acts", "oh  _bloody_ —fine, you can wing it", "Thank you, My. You're  _the_  best", "You can't act calmer even if you tried to", "I'll accept that as a compliment~") before Tony straightened his back, demanding for attention. And, with him carrying his businessman and politician skills from the past thirty years of his life, did it easily; as the two officers were standing upright without their consent and waiting for the inevitable, "buckled up boys. And let me explain the trick for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to call Tony Sherlock in other people POV. But I'll call him Tony back when it was his or Mycroft POV.
> 
> And yeah. This Sherlock will be more like Tony instead of the movie Sherlock a.k.a confident, childish and love to tease.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by TrueTrashKing

Lestrade thought he could drop by Mycroft’s residence, ask him about what really happened with the suicide case yesterday, report the finding of the culprit and be done with his work today.

Yet, this is Mycroft Holmes he was talking about; a man who could identify the origin of a person in one glance, the sometimes-infuriating-but-smart-anyway man who could flip one logic as easy as blinking. He should’ve started to expect the unexpected whenever they crossed paths.

He watched as the man with a goatee—Mycroft Holmes’s little brother. He was still gawking over the fact that Mycroft had a brother that, judging by his height and posture, his age was not that far off from said man—brandished the papers he clutched the whole time to show off its’ existence to them; still wearing a small grin but looking a little more serious than the childish aura he exuded a moment ago.

“This case is pretty easy, you know. Even My could guess it the moment he saw the condition of the crime scene. Well yeah, he’s crazy smart and all—“

“So you admit it, huh?”

“Aw shush, My. I’m way handsome than you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“I’m going to take my wins wherever I can.~”

Lestrade coughed, trying to get the attention of the Holmes’s brother back. Mycroft’s thought often going elsewhere, or anywhere that the man found interesting to observe, so the moment his little brother showed the same quirk, he was used to it.

(Still. There were two of them now. He was going to get double the headaches. And this Sherlock mate seems way hyperactive for a man his age; bouncing around like a kid on a sugar rush.)

(He needed to train Clark after this. He couldn’t fathom babysitting them by himself)

“Like I said, this case is easy but a little tricky. Not the trick itself but because the victim and the culprit both didn’t leave any evidence.”

“Wha—really? Then how do we catch them?!” Lestrade didn’t want a killer to be let loose just because they lack the evidence to arrest them.

“A simple interrogation. The trick is smart, but that was because he could think on his feet when he was faced with crisis” Sherlock pushed the middle paper to front, showing a man in his twenties; short hair tidily cut, half-moon glasses perched on a sharp nose and he was wearing a light brown—you can’t really tell from the black and white photo—coat on top of his shirt, ”But the man is shy—see how he’s hunched on himself? And how he buttoned the first button on his coat—if you push the right topic, he’ll admit everything.”

“Can’t really says anything about the motive. Maybe a disagreement or fleeting anger? I don't have enough facts to accumulate. But the point is, something made him mad. And a thought of killing his friend rushed through him. He drugged her friend when the girl’s attention was somewhere else. During the night, he looped the noose around her neck and laid her on the edge of the bridge then left her till morning. Why did I know? Because the day before yesterday, it was drizzling from 1 AM to 3 AM—what, My? I can’t sleep so I decided to read some book? Don’t look at me like that—so the only place that got drenched was the front of the gown and not the back. Then, when she woke up, as the victim was still groggy from her sleep, she tried to step out from her bed. Never knowing that she was on the bridge and there’s nothing to hold her body besides the rope...”

Sherlock snapped his fingers, letting the ominous atmosphere encompassing his listener. Lestrade clamped his knuckle, full-blown pity was directed at the victim and anger at the killer for such a devious trick. It was easy, like Sherlock said. Easy yet evil. He couldn’t fathom for the life of him, why they used their clever brain—because it really _was_ clever—to end other people lives, but that was just it. A criminal mind that nobody could ever understand.

Clark was clasping his hands in prayer and the inspector followed suit after a moment of stewing the irritation out. The brunette let them mulled over the answer as he showed them a small yet satisfied smirk.

“And that’s the end of my demonstration~”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The case is not mine. Disclaimer to Tanteiken Sherdock manga.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by TrueTrashKing

Mycroft smiled in satisfaction as Tony preened under the awestruck reactions of the two officers; judging from his story, Tony glowed under the spotlight. And, after a month without media hounding him—which was a good thing. The media could be very suffocating when you've spent too much time with them after all. And people need their own solitude and comfort zone sometimes—the brunette, though he would deny it vehemently until his death, definitely missed them. Not their negative view of him, but the clamoring and clapping he'd receive with his presence only.

Tony, still wearing that shit eating grin, looked back at him and struck a pose, "see? I can do it too. You shouldn't hog all the attention to yourself, brother~"

Then, without his permission, his smile  _stuttered_. And Tony could definitely see that as his orbs lighted with worry and apprehension. He was kicking himself after the slip-up but Mycroft couldn't blame him. They decided to use this script as their cover. So naturally, to make the story more convincing, they'd have to act like real brothers.

Well, they could always choose to be the siblings who hated each other and only cared for the wealth of their parents.

(But he can't do that. Because, even if Tony wasn't Sherly, he still  _cared_  for him in his own way)

As Tony's expression formed a somewhat apologetic one—he couldn't tell him outright or the cover would be blown right then and there—he subtly shook his head; telling him mutely, that it was not his fault and to not worry. Tony looked like he wanted to object, though Mycroft cut him immediately, "yes, of course. I'll try to save some of the cases for you, brother. Or better yet, I'll give all of them to you so I can focus on my work."

"Wha—meany! You know I still need my beauty sleep!"

"Sure Mr. 'I couldn't sleep so I decided to read some books'"

Tony pouted, "that was only one time..."

Mycroft lifted his eyebrows. And Tony fidgeted.

"Okay, fine. Maybe a couple times..."

"You need to rest, Sherly. Your lung is still healing." He chastised, even though he knew it was futile. It was hard to change the billionaire's mind when he was determined on something (just like Sherly.  _Always_  like Sherly) and when he did, he'd chase the problem with vigor, much like a child caught up in a sugar rush.

"But I told you before that I'm  _boooreeedd_." See? He was hunching and swaying his head left and right; practically a sign of a kid sulking in the corner when they didn't get their reward. Still, a trait of his that makes him lovable all the same.

"I'll send you another case, okay?" Tony lightened up and grinned, nodding his head so quick, Mycroft was worried he'd get whiplash. Mycroft sighed fondly, collecting the stray papers on the floor and on the table before he arranged it all into one, tidy stack, "Now. Rest. Or I'll sick Robert and Elliot on your tail." To further show proof that he was threatening the genius, he nodded at his bodyguards, now watching the drama from the ajar door.

"So  _that's_  their names! Okay, but don't forget your promise!~" when Tony was out and started walking back to his room, he vaguely heard him saying something like 'so,  _Mum_. Are you Elliot? Because Robert sounds too manly for you' and the man he called 'Mum' (why and how?) sputter as Mycroft chuckled.

Poor Clark could only blink in confusion—he was still new to this. While Lestrade, having experience in managing Mycroft, stared at him, thumb pointed at the vanishing figure of the brunette, "Oh. he's your brother alright..."

Mycroft respiration strangled, the words hit a little too close to home.

(Yes.  _Yes_ , he is. Tony is not Sherlock, but God forbid. He's acting just like him—a little too hyperactive, but his face, his smile, his talking (an excellent British accent too), even his stance. A  _perfect_  carbon copy of Sherly)

He coughed to hide the painful knot in his stomach, tried to give a small smile so it didn't look too fake, "Yes. He is a Holmes after all."

Not by blood but still a ' _Holmes'_  in any case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...why did I create an OC? Two OCes actually o.O
> 
> I don't know what will happen with Robert and Elliot in the future, but don't worry. They're not that important except telling the story from the other perspective. Never like OC in fanfiction or fancomic anyway. Because usually, they hog all the attention and steal away the main characters spotlight `3`


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by TrueTrashKing

“I’m surprised you didn’t want them to take your photo.”

Tony hummed, mouth chewing the fresh bread Mycroft had bought this morning, before thanking Stanley for refilling his coffee; no matter how his ‘older brother’ tried cajoling him into drinking a tea like a supposed British gentleman should be, you simply couldn’t separate _Tony Stark_ from the heavenly beverage called _coffee_. It was basically his fuel to running through the day without breaking apart. He gulped half of his drink and snatched another bread—the butter smells _so_ delicious, “well, like I said before. We can’t have two Tony Stark roaming around the past and the future. Sure, your brother had the same face as mine, but as far as I remember, he didn't have any photo in the newspaper either, right?”

Mycroft nodded as he sipped his tea. An army in this era is a secret thing  Because you can’t keep your weapon from prying eyes when the said weapon was posted in every paper that any civilian could get. Yes, they sometimes posted a name here and there whenever those soldiers have an achievement but that’s about it (Sherlock was known to be a diligent soldier, Mycroft sadly recalled, he was famous among his co-workers. Or-...previously famous that is. The said brother and co-worker were no more. And now that they were gone, the world would never know)

“Though do you like what I did _there_?” Tony pointed at the newspaper in his hand, slyly smiling an amused expression on his face.

On the headline was the scene of the suicide incident. And in the right corner, a small photo featuring a man wearing a loose shirt. The viewer couldn’t see his face because the man covered it using a thick book with the title of ‘Observed. Even a Monkey Can Do It’. And at the side of the photo was the headline of the news.

_Scotland Yards caught the real culprit behind the London Bridge’s Suicide._

_Sherlock Holmes aides police_

(So yeah. Tony had maybe chosen that book for the jab only. Poor Lestrade, his face looked so pinched)

“Always wanted to do that after I watch this cartoon; about a character in which he’s practically the main actor, but nobody could ever see his face because it was constantly blocked by something. That was hilarious as hell. Kinda want to try that but you know me.” He shrugged, trying to show how disappointed he was but failed miserably when that smirk was still there, “I’m _too_ famous in my world to hide my handsome face~”

“Sure you are,” but Mycroft was chuckling too. Trust Tony to not show his face to the world as dramatic as possible, “but...cartoon?”

“Oh, right. Forgot again. You like to watch...I don’t know what they have in this era...musical show? Opera?” Mycroft nodded, “Instead on stage, you watch it from television—it was this rectangle box that shows moving pictures. It's called a film or movie. But a cartoon is a motion picture using animation to photograph a sequence of drawing rather than real people or object and...”

They continued their breakfast in the comfortable chatter of the brunette (Mycroft was still unsure to let the brunette up when Tony insisted to get up from his bed for a long amount of time and have a meal in a proper dining table. But, when the brunette did fifty or so push-ups yesterday, he relented. You can’t really keep the man named Tony Stark still for even five minutes either). Mycroft dabbed the handkerchief on his mouth and realized the said man had stopped talking. He glanced, as his ‘little brother’ stared at him in questioning glance. And he blinked in acknowledgment.

“Oh well...I’m just thinking.” He started, scratching at his nape for starter, “I’m not saying this ‘observation skill’ of yours is creepy—it’s _fucking_ awesome actually—but...” stopped again, inhaling a large gulp of breath and continued almost too fast, “have you ever met someone who was pissed at you before, because of _this_?”

“I’m an only kid when I attended  MIT—my college—and my peers...you know...were jealous of me. Cursing my knowledge and mad at how I constantly had higher scores than them” except Rhodey. _Always_ Rhodey. _Always_ by his side, never leaving him even after all these years, “yeah, I admit you’re genius, My. And that’s why I’m curious if there is—are—some people who were jealous of you...” the last sentenced was uttered so silently, he basically whispered.  He looked so meek, not like his usual self.

(But maybe because he was never comfortable enough for other people to see this side of him. Besides these friends of him—Pepper and Rhodey—and now him. Mycroft was touched but was furious at the same time because how _dare_ them?)

(How _dare_ those predator called media buried this sweet side of Tony? And how _dare_ his so-called friend made him so unpleasant whenever he showed a flicker of weakness, he basically lived with his mask _24/7?)_

Mycroft coughed to have the attention back, “yes, there are some people in Government who despised it whenever I, as you called it, butted into their business” Tony snorted at that, “Though remember this. People will always judge you, no matter if you fail or do well at something. So I learned to ignore them after a while.”

“And you know...someday there’ll be someone who just _clicks with you_. Your geniuses will annoy people but...” he smiled at the stunned looking Tony.

.

“Don’t you think it’ll also find you the truest friend you ever dreamed of?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I googled and it says television was sold commercially at 1920. Please, correct me if I’m wrong and I’m gonna edit the story :D  
> What was Sherlock’s real reason for not wanting to show his face to the media again? I feel like this is canon and not just from the movie...
> 
> Tony was talking about an anime called Sasami-san@Ganbaranai. The male character’s face was always obstructed by something; be it his school bag, shovel, paper bag, even a leaf (perspective). The anime itself is funny, tho’ the fanservice kinda ruined it...
> 
> Sorry I have an obsession with anime lol. Well, more into manga nowadays cuz I always love reading instead of watching. So brace yourself for reference here and there `3`


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by TrueTrashKing

May wrung her hands as she peeked through the ajar door, watching her nephew’s back with a worried glance. He’s been sitting on the windowsill for the past hour, doing nothing but swinging his legs and watching the clouds goes by. Sometimes, he sniffed, shoulders wracked with hidden grief. But in the next second, he’d wipe his tear away in one swipe, watching the pedestrians walking around down there.

At first, when Peter was back from his ‘internship’ Tony offered, May was glad. He knew Tony promised to keep him safe, knew that as a billionaire, he had the resources to assign bodyguard(s) to watch over Peter. So she didn’t mind too much.

But then when she opened the door, Peter barreled into her with a hug, sobbing his eyes out and babbling apologies.  May was startled for a second before her mind stopped working as she saw what Peter was wearing.

A spiderman suit

She had just watched Spiderman fight in a, what the media called, Civil War a few minutes ago.

And her nephew is  _the_  Spiderman.

May was angry. No, scratch that. She was mad as  _hell_  (pardon the swearing). How  _dare_  Tony lie to her? How  _dare_  he bring her sweet,  _sweet_  child into a war that doesn’t involve him in the first place! She wanted to give him her piece of mind, along with maybe a slap or two. She wanted to  _demand_  what was he thinking in that supposed brilliant brain he claimed to have, involving him with the Avengers- in a should-never-involved-a-kids- _at-all_ problem—

“Tony is  _dead_.”

—then Peter’s word sunk in and her anger turned into horrified realization.

She didn’t release her grip on her nephews' fragile figure as he told her the full story. About how he got his powers. That he had been doing this superhero gig for almost a year. That Tony may be offering the ‘internship’ but he didn’t force him to join because this is an adult problem and he needs Peter just so he could use his power to capture them and avoid collateral damage and not for fighting. That Tony told him to stay at the hotel as he will try to bargain another round to his teammate (no.  _Not_  teammate anymore) and resolve their dispute. That, no matter how many hours he waited and waited and  _waited_...Tony never came back.

That Vision only offered his condolence as Peter stood in shock.

“It’s my fault. I should’ve accompanied him. I should’ve stayed by his side. Now he’s gone. He’s gone, May! And it’s  _my_  fault!!”

 _No it’s not, Peter. It’s not your fault._  May wanted to say.  _Never your fault. Not for Tony’s death. Not even for Ben’s._

Because May knew. That the billionaire’s death brought very bad memories to the surfaces. That her nephew always blamed himself for the death of her husband. Always thinking about that famous ‘what if’ scenarios; what if he didn’t wander away? What if they didn’t have that argument? What if he ran fast enough to stop the robbery? What if. What if.  _What if._

Peter, an eleven years old child Peter, adored Tony Stark from the moment he saw him on the television, as an engineer who practically created all the tech their family ever had. Adored him when he announced to the world he’s Iron Man, a hero. Adored him even more when he saved him from that science expo disaster.

Tony may have never acknowledged his existence before her nephew. But Peter knew him enough, he watched every video of his expo to cheered himself up after Ben’s death.

That, May bitterly thought, Peter basically lost his two precious, role figures.

(Peter will tell her one day, that Happy told him Tony recognized him, long before the Spiderman thing. As Tony always keep an eye on every genius from every university so that he could offer them the (real) intern after they graduated. Peter is on the top five list. And that at least calmed May’s vicious thought about Tony using his nephew for his power only).

That day, May held him as he cried himself to sleep. Crying along for his nephew suffering.

(She wished Ben is with them right now. With  _her_ right now.)

(Being a single parent is  _hard_ ).

“Karen.” May fished her Stark phone out—Mrs. Potts gave one to her after she heard Peter finally told his aunt about his real identity. Fully equipped with the AI in Peter’s suit so she can monitor him whenever he was out patrolling—walked away from her nephew’s door and whispered, “what happened at the Potts tower?”

“Peter was upset because the exVanger are back.” The mechanical voice echoed.

 _Ah, right._  Today was the day, huh? May was too caught up with her work, she didn’t have time to watch the news. That’s why he suddenly went back home and just, brood.

The traitors are back. She is worried about Peter’s safety.

(Because they destroyed the tunnel and killed  _too_  many people after that war)

(Because one of them  _killed_  Tony Stark)

“Karen...” May said, “you’ll watch over him for me, right?”

Sure, Peter had lie to her. Sure, Tony had  _lie_  to her. She will never forgive them fully for that, for making her worry unnecessary. But even then—

“Always, ma’am” Karen answered. Judging from her tone, the AI is smiling.

.

_You two are still watching over us, huh?_

.

When May finally meets Tony in the afterlife someday, she will still give him that slap though.

.

.

And speaking about the exVanger, where are  _that two_  people disappear to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh waow I’m crying again, what the heck?? :’D


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...I’m gonna be honest. I haven’t watch Thor Ragnarok. Haven’t watch Black Panther either. I’m sorry in advance if there are mistakes in this chap because I just read the Wikipedia. It’s okay to tell me, I’ll try to fix it as best as I could :D
> 
> ...the only reason why I started watching Marvel movies was just because of Tony Stark lol. The others (a.k.a Spiderman, Dr. Strange, Ant-Man) were just because my sis and bro said it was worth it to watch, so I watched it. And I watched it on my laptop too, not on theater. When RDJ retire from this series, I’m not gonna watch anymore Marvel movies. Except if my siblings said it was worth it to watch, again :P
> 
> And Infinity War? Screw you!! Petey is Tony's son and always will be!!
> 
> Betaed by TrueTrashKing

Thor sighed in exasperation, gaze dull and posture solemn. This...this is a _disaster_. He thought after the mayhem of Sokovia ended, his teammates in Midgard would overcome their differences and work as a team they were supposed to. Yet that was the keyword here; _were_.

He should’ve stay on Earth to help his friends in learning the complexity of politics.

Then the civil war never would have happened.

(Then his friend would’ve _never_ perished)

Thor is not stupid—not anymore. He now knew a prince should never be rash, should know how to lead his people and be held responsible for anything that could happen due to his choices. That was the first thing his Father taught them (even though he forgot about that teaching for a moment when he thought to incite a war with Jotunheim. Or when his brother started the rebellion); taught Thor and Loki that being a king is not always sunshine and rainbows, to always be in constant vigilance at what’s happening, always watching you and your comrade’s back. Midgardian politics may be different from Asgardian ones. However, he knew one thing that will never change, no matter what planet—or universe, Stephen told him at that time—you live in.

 _Compromise_.

Hearing other people opinion and being held for accountability.

Now it was too late. The Avengers are no more.

_Friend Tony is no more._

They couldn’t find a trace of him nor his body. Even Heimdall couldn’t even pinpoint him. And, when the _All-Seeing_ and _All-Hearing_ himself said that, then he knew there was no hope at all.

He let out a long suffering breath for the ninth time. This news as bad as the death of his father, the release of Hela from her imprisonment, and even the destruction of his trusty Mjolnir.

(He’d become attached to his weapon in partner; after all the battle they’ve gone through, _always_ side by side, never leaving each other. So when she was gone, It hurt him, real bad. Was this how Friend Tony felt when he lost the other-worldly voice of his butler, JARVIS? A company of his being for almost half of his life? Oh, how he wronged the billionaire so _much_ ; with how he blamed him for the mess of Ultron (when, as his head finally cleared, was not all the man’s fault but also Bruce and himself for helping in the first place), never gave the genius the time to mourn for the lost child)

And now he is in the garbage planet of Sakaar, surrounded by space and wormholes. Captured by a bounty hunter and forced to be a mere gladiator who fights for a living. When a familiar green beast came into the light and his eyes widened in shock, Thor couldn’t help but think.

What an irony he lived his life in. It was like the universe itself was having fun pitting them against each other; against their dear friends, testing their loyalty.

And Captain America, the one who was supposed to be a leader, the one who said he would never leave any man behind, failed that test.

Thor poised his shield and sword ready, gaze gleaming as Hulk gave a loud roar, shaking the entire ring and making the crowd cheer. He would not follow the step of their supposed friend—leaving everything just for the sake of one person—and by the name of Odin, he will save the last of his teammate from the clutch of the Grandmaster.

Bruce will be in anguish when he knows the fate of his brother in science though.

And when that time comes, Thor will be ready to be there _for_ him.

.

 _Not_ like him. _Not_ like Captain America.

 _Never_ like Steve Rogers.

.

.

He hopes Friend Tony will forgive him someday


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typo is my most loyal fan, spelling mistakes because English is not my mother language, Possibly OOC, Mostly Fluff with a lot of Angst. I hope.
> 
> Betaed by TrueTrashKing

Bruce stared blankly at the blinking stars outside of the Quinjet, hair mussed and bags hovering under his muddy eyes.

“Hulk. Stop crying...”

_But the monster didn’t hear him. Or if he did, he didn’t care. He kept crying and crying and crying and it tore his heart apart._

It was after they finally escaped from Sakaar. When Thor tried to transform him back into the harmless Bruce. He didn’t mean it to be slipped, didn’t mean to deliver the bad news in this bad time. Though maybe the stress finally got him and Thor blurted out—

That Friend Tony is gone.

Not on holiday but gone for good.

Thor was wary that Hulk wouldn’t recognize the billionaire’s name anymore. Or would go berserk right then and there, destroying the Quinjet and their only way to escape. Yet he was shocked when Hulk suddenly fell down like a doll without strings, wailing and balling, letting out a stream of tears like a river. Before Thor could comprehend and take a step up to comfort the monster, slowly but surely, he changed back into Bruce; the scientist was haggard and looked a older than he should have.

It’s been two hours since then. And Hulk hadn’t stopped crying.

“Please,  _please_  Hulk,” he swallowed back bile, his throat patchy and hurt, “please, I beg you. It was hard for me too.”

He let out a shaky breath, finger caressing the hot coffee Thor made for him. It’s not as good as Tony’s. Will never as good as Tony’s. Or...as good as he remembered it. But now, he’ll never taste the heavenly beverage to reminded him of the good, old days. Not anymore. Not ever.

“He’s one of the people who honestly smiled at us. Accepted us with a big hug and a warm smile”

—Tony grinned while he babbled about his invention, telling him about the knick-knack, how the idea came up and how he created it. All while Dum-E beeped in the background, trying to insert his help in the creation—

“He never met us before, but he believed that we are good people and was never afraid to approach us.”

—Tony whistled and stepped out from his armor, ignoring his ‘teammates’ hissed warning and patting Hulk’s big arm in assurance telling him that the danger was gone and it’s time for you to calm down or he’ll eat all of the pudding he promised to give him after a job well done—

“He was there for us. Always ready to hear us out.”

—Tony smiled and offered him a cup of warm coffee, sat beside him and stayed silent as Bruce tried to swallow the nightmares, trying to calm the raging inferno inside of him—

_“But we leave him.” The Hulk interjected and cried. Cried and cried and cried and the scientist has a hard time holding his own sob back, “we leave him after the Evil Robot and now The Tin Man is gone.”_

(Yes. Yes, they left him. When the brunette had never done a single bad thing to them and was always there for them but he left him as soon as the disaster happened, leaving him to fend for himself alone without support, ignoring him and betraying him and  _I’m sorry I’m sorry it_ _’s too late but I’m sorry—_ )

“I know, Hulk.”

_“He’s gone, Bruce. The Good Tin Man is gone!!”_

“I know, Hulk.”

_“I want to smash the Bad Captain. Let me smash the bad Captain!”_

It was a hard thing to do, to repress his anger that time, he even had to warn Thor to knock him out if he really went mad. Because Bruce himself has his own piece of mind he wants to give Steve, wants to yell at him, wants to shout at the captain. Because he said he wanted his teammate to not hide another secret from him, from them. To tell everything if it concerned the life of someone else.

Except, did he really? Didn’t he hide the fact that his friend killed the parents of his other friend? That he preferred this one instead of the other? So much that he’d leave Tony alone in that cold bunker, dying and choking on his own blood?

(Bruce want Hulk to smash him. He really did. He wants to tell him- it. That Tony has other friends beside them. Besides Bruce, the coward. But—)

“But Tony wouldn’t like that,” he said, “He will not like it, even though they deserve it, Tony would never do that.”

Because he’s a nice man—was a nice man. The media could try ruining his image, their ex-teammate could try justifying his action as killing a stubborn, petty billionaire whiner.  But Bruce knows better.  _SHOULD’VE_  knew better that Tony is just a tired yet nice man. A  _too_  nice man who only wished for other people happiness and would even sacrifice himself for that.

I’m sorry Tony I’m sorry  _I’m sorry—_

“So, please Hulk. Stop crying..” he hugged himself, trying to calm the monster with his own body heat alone. Another shaky breath, another choked sob, and his shoulders started shaking. He curled himself into a tighter ball, hiding his head between his knees as a lone tear fell out of his closed eyes.

Even when 142 and Loki crashed into their plane and promised to help them survive, The Hulk still crying. And Bruce’s own feeling plummeted into the dark abyss of despair.

.

_“Please...I beg of you...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the reviewers want Bruce’s reaction so here it is. No plot, really. Just a bit of angst. In which I cried as I wrote this. Freaking again...
> 
> What’s wrong with me and writing at night that makes me so emotional?? :’D


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typo is my most loyal fan, spelling mistakes because English is not my mother language, Possibly OOC, Mostly Fluff with a lot of Angst. I hope. NOT BETA so beware of grammar mistakes
> 
> So yeah. This chap is not beta yet. My betaer haven't respond in...idk...two weeks or so? And I totally forgot that there's no email from them and realized I haven't update in a while. So sorry for every grammar mistakes you'll find here ><
> 
> Edit: It's beta'ed now

" _Hatchuuu!"_

"Bless you. Here, wear my scarf, sir."

"Naah, no need." Tony sniffled and rubbed his running nose, "must be someone talking about me or something."

Elliot looked at him funny but dropped the subject.

"And you know...I can go shopping by myself. I don't need a bodyguard."

"Tell that to sir Mycroft."

Tony sulked, knowing the lost battle when he saw one; just this morning, he was practically begging and unleashed the power of puppy dog eyes just so he could walk around the town. Mycroft was too overprotective, seriously. The market was not even that far from his house; just buy fresh loaves of bread, maybe included one or two bottles of jam and a morning newspaper. Yet, of course, the bulky man was paranoid and assigned Elliot to accompany him.

(Definitely his guilt talking. Tony really do look like his late little brother. Moreover, because he didn't want the same tragedy ever happen again, he tried to protect Tony thoroughly)

(Not that he disliked it. Actually happy that someone cares him enough to be all mother-hen)

(Tony will never admit it though)

He maneuvered the crowded bystanders with grace, a skill he got after years of being surrounded by media and fans, picked up some fruits and leaving sterlings at the same time along the way. Sometimes he stopped for a couple of minutes on one of the stalls, haggling the seller to lower the cost a bit. Yeah, he's a billionaire at his time, but this is Mycroft's money. No matter how his 'older brother' was considered rich plus Tony got permission to buy anything he wants from the man himself (which, he refused), he was not going to be wasteful like his old self, "God, this era clothes is  _waaay_  to stuffy. How could you wear all that black coat all day Elli, I can't even imagine the heat."

Elliot—in which Tony though Elliot was too mouthful, decided to call him Elli—shrugged, "you'll get used after a while, Sir Sherlock."

" _Come on!_  I told you and Rob to call me Sherlock. Or Sherly, like My do. Adding sir is too formal and I can't take all this stuffiness any longer! The clothes are choking me enough, I don't  _need_  your stoic attitude to add it!"

But like every bodyguard ever—even Happy. Man, how many time he told him to stop calling him boss. Especially when Tony was retired from being the Stark CEO and the said bodyguard was promoted as Pepper's bodyguard including the rank of Head Security, the man still called him boss!—he ignored his whining then proceed to pick up the shopping bag from the brunette's cradle. When he was ready to protest, Elliot just gave him this stare of 'your lung is still half-healed so don't waste your breath'. Tony saw that stare anytime when he was caught doing a workout in his room by Mycroft. Maybe his brother taught Elliot how?

"I was right to call you Mum,  _Mum_." Tony grumbled, cheering a little bit when the bodyguard sputtered.

_Score one for me. Another five to go~_

When they finally accomplish their mission—he couldn't best Elliot after the first success,  _bummer_ —the genius was ready to go back; not because his heart started to thump painfully and his lung constricted like a choker,  _no sire_. (Anyway, did a lung puncture—'almost' lung puncture—take this much time to heal? He didn't think so. How he wishes he still has a sample of extremis. The lack of proper medical treatment in this era didn't help the case either).

He stopped on his track, however, when he heard a commotion not that far from his place. The debate itself was not that heated, although if they keep it up it'll start to get people attention. Tony gestured for Elliot to follow him. As they reach the start of a shouting match, he rolled his eyes.

"I  _told_  you. I already paid the right amount!"

"No, you're not. You still owe me two sterling, sir."

 _Oh man,_  what a petty argument.

"People,  _peeeople_!" he clapped the tall man with ( _magnificent!_ ) mustache and top hat—British people this era really love top hat. Maybe he should consider himself getting one—on a shoulder, startling him ( _a fighting stance, a slight scuffle on his leg, he just winced—)_  "please, this is so unbecoming of a British Gentleman. Have you  _no_  shame?"

At least the tall guy ducked his head in embarrassment. The vendor still looks pissed though, "besides, this guy is telling the truth. Don't you think you're the deceiving one here,  _sir vendor_?"

"I see that sleeve of yours look a little bit too heavy. Maybe there's something you want to hide?" While the vendor's face turned pale, lips stuttered some unintelligent garbled, Tony snatched his right hand and peered inside the said sleeve. He grinned, a little but devious grin, as fingers collected the 'missing' two sterlings from the inside before giving it back to the outstretched hand, "here your pay. Don't  _'lose'_  it again."

The vendor gaped; ashamed, when he realized people started gathering, and scared because the tall man glared at him furiously. Tony huffed—this kind of people still exist  _huh_?—though he ignored him and gave an encouraged slap on the tall man's back, "my suggestion, don't buy anything from this shop anymore. You're lucky it was just two sterlings. Oh, and that apple on the right corner of your shopping bag will spoil in the next forty-eight hour, you should put it back."

Another pat on the back, "Goodbye, sir Soldier! Have a  _nice_  day~" and Tony was gone, leaving the questioning gaze of the tall man in top hat and humiliated seller grilled by the angry buyers.

.

.

He watched the disappearing figure of the mysterious short man and mumbled,

"How did he know I'm a soldier?"


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typo is my most loyal fan, spelling mistakes because English is not my mother language, Possibly OOC, Mostly Fluff with a lot of Angst. I hope.
> 
> Betaed by TrueTrashKing

Mycroft was met by the sight of Tony doing a variety of poses in front of a mirror the moment he was out from his office. He stepped into Tony's line of sight and tilted his head to the side, gaze wondering what the bloody hell he was doing, being so narcissistic in the middle of the evening.

"Maybe I should change my appearance a bit." Tony answered his silent question, still posing—finger curling in his short dark brown hair, "I could let my hair grow longer and goatee a little unkempt for a starter."

The older one nodded in acceptance. He knew Tony's paranoia of screwing up the timeline of the future and endangering everything he had done so far for almost half of his life. Hence, him wanting a new look was an understatement, "why though? You never show your face in the newspaper, therefore it doesn't change the situation much."

"But what if some sneaky reporter got one anyway? We'll be  _doomed_!"

Hmm. That's right. Mycroft should know about how crafty media tended to be; they could even disguise themselves as one of the government lapdogs, he shuddered. The efficiency of the security guards at the palace save him from a ton of paperwork fortunately, "then, why are you waiting for me for this?"

Because Tony _was_ waiting. He could have just changed his appearance the next morning without telling anyone and give them a surprise; the man habitually has done that multiple times (poor Robert and Elliot usually took the brunt). Yet the brunette decided to stay awake, doing nothing besides looking at his face in every angle, waiting for Mycroft to complete his work.

Tony himself still won't look at him directly, Mycroft watched as those orbs darted around, every except the older brother's reflection. Mouth thinned and brows scrunched, he was mulling on something. And, with a voice that could barely be considered a whisper, he subsequently spoke, "I was hoping...to borrow your brother's style..."

And Mycroft stops short.

.

_Ah, so that's why._

.

Right. Tony suddenly showing up and looking even more like Sherlock, not just by face but with his hairstyle too?

He himself could imagine his reaction would not have been pretty.

(Be it wailing in distress  _or_  longing. Or outrage at Tony for pulling an  _awful_  prank, he didn't want to think which one will happen).

.

He saw Tony's eyes shifted onto his freezing form, nibbling his lower lip and visibly uncomfortable. Mycroft took a large gulp of breath, "why?"

"Well, this is just my observation, but I think your brother wanted his enemy to underestimate him? When you look like you're a neet—uh... _recluse_ , I mean—people will never consider you a soldier. And, even if enemies catch a whiff of him, they'll just think that he was a different person with coincidentally the same name and not the man itself...?"

Mycroft dryly smiled. Naturally, Tony guessed his late brothers' intentions pretty spotted on. Being tied by blood with a brother who works for the government, you start to learn to hide between the spectator and pretend to be a normal onlooker. He remembered Sherlock tended to slick his hair back and goatee trimmed whenever he went on duty, but let everything be in disarray when he was at home. Of course, it'll not  _always_  work if he encounters a slightly clever foe. Still, the simple trick did wonders for Sherlock living a somewhat peaceful life.

(the betrayal  _destroyed_  it all, however)

The bulky man sighed before he smiled. No point in hindering him. It was his body and his face anyway. Not his place to judge and dictate what road he should choose. And, as Tony saw the quirk of lips from the mirror, sighed in relief.

.

.

When the day of his change in appearance came, Mycroft denied that he  _almost_  cried. Even when he saw the alteration almost every day, it still didn't erase the fact that Tony really is basically Sherlock's duplicate.

Tony let Mycroft engulfed him in a tight hug though. And that small gesture was  _enough_  for his guilt to started waning.

.

_I'm not your brother. But I'll be there for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote that but even I can't imagined Tidy!Sherlock lol.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typo is my most loyal fan, spelling mistakes because English is not my mother language, Possibly OOC, Mostly Fluff with a lot of Angst. I hope. NOT BETA

The door opened and an old woman with the soft feature, hair tied in a bun greet him. She gasped in startled though smile good-naturally, “oh, Mr. Holmes. It’s nice to finally see you in this fine morning.”

Mycroft threw back his own quirk of lips, tipping his hat up as the woman giving a silent gesture to come on in, “nice to see you too, Mrs. Hudson. I’m sorry I didn’t visit you this past year.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I know you have your duty. Working for a government is a hard thing to do.” She ushered the man into the living room, nodding at Mr. Hudson who was walking out of the apartment ( _a wallet, paper in hand—_ ) to restock some groceries. His wife called him before he was out of the front door to _don’t forget to buy some milk, dear_ while she went to the side kitchen to boiled some water, “sit down, Mr. Holmes. I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thank you, Mrs. That is really kind of you.”

Mrs. Hudson giggled, “you’re such a gentleman. Really different from my lazy husband.” She set a tray of beautiful china then poured the hot-piped—he sniffed—roiibos tea, “to what do I owe you this nice visit?”

“Well, I was hoping the previous room is still open,” he sipped. Hm, not as good as Stanley’s but a fine mix still. The herbal smell strong and it calms him down.

“ _Oh_! Does that mean—“

“Yes. My brother—“ not his real brother. Although after three months living with the hyperactive Tony Stark with his own quirk and personalities, he could openly say that the brunette is his brother through and through ( _still_. If the real one is here, they will become friend the moment their eyes met. And that thought always plague his mind; all the possibilities, all the wit, and geniuses they will unleash upon the world never failed to bring a solemn and longing smile on his tired face), “—Sherly finally woke up from his slumber. You should see how he was bouncing around like a cricket.”

The Holmes brother knew Mr. And Mrs. Hudson when the (late) Sherly asked his brother to help him find another place to rest. That doesn’t mean he didn’t want to be in one house with his own brother, he soothed the frowning Mycroft that time, but again, they have their own enemy (ies). They didn’t want Mycroft’s or his come into their humble house, thinking they could assassinate one Holmes yet find another. Sure, they could silence them with their own hands—and of course, the bodyguard will never be far away to reach—but the worse thing that would happen is what if their enemy decided to sell the information? That Mycroft _and_ Sherlock are brothers in blood? That you could use _either_ of them to threaten the other?

That will be a _nightmare_ , for the British Government and for their own family.

So, after walking around the Baker Street for a while, they found one place that looks normal; not too extravagant yet homey enough to be called their second home. They promised they’ll be back when the right time comes, as Sherly have another duty the next day while Holmes have a gala to attend.

And _that_ tragedy happen.

He didn’t have the heart to tell the Hudsons— _honestly_ , he was still skeptical about other people at that time. Still mourning for the loss of his family and realized that, no matter how he tried to act nonchalant about the life of others, Mycroft is _still_ human all the same—and when Stanley succeed in coaxing him, he sent a letter to tell them he couldn’t follow the promise because Sherly is away; from injuries he got after his duty and not the truth. Never the truth. Because at that one meeting, he saw how Mrs. Hudson became attached to Sherly and treat him almost like her own son.

Mycroft felt bad that he was still lying even now. However, it’s the best solution. Didn’t want the nice lady to have a cardiac arrest from the bad news he will never deliver.

“Oohh Mr. Holmes. That is _wonderful_. I’m so happy for you!” her eyes watering, hands clasping around his own.

He’s happy _too_. Tony may not be his brother, but his existence brightens his bleak future anyway, “Sherly is an adventurer. I’m sure someday he wanted to spread his wings and be an independent young man.”

“But you’re worried about him anyway.” The matriarch nodded knowingly, “I’ll make sure the upper floor will be ready when your brother wants to find a room to stay.”

Mycroft shoulders sagged in relief, “thank you so much, Mrs. Hudson. You’re a _real_ life-saver.”

The old woman smiled so wide, her eyes closed in the process. With another pour of tea, she sat down and said, “now tell me about _your_ day. And that brother of yours.”

He chuckled. With calloused hand cradling the warm teacup, Mycroft sighed and relented, “Well, there was this time that me and Sherly...”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typo is my most loyal fan, spelling mistakes because English is not my mother language, Possibly OOC, Mostly Fluff with a lot of Angst. I hope. NOT BETA. So beware of Grammar Mistakes

Robert was having a nice tea drink he acquired from Stanley, doing nothing but watching other people walk through the city from the window. Elliot was accompanying Sir Mycroft going elsewhere—visiting old colleague that was a year-long due. He would love to come, though others need to keep an eye on the other Holmes. Because when you let your eyes wander  _even_  a second—

_BOOOUUMMM_

—that happen.

He was up from his chair and almost frantically run to the source of the sound (his room.  _Of course,_  it's going to be his room). When he slammed the wooden door open, grey smoke enveloping almost every sight he could linger. Robert closed a hand around his nose, trying to stop his automatic breathing before he inhales some of the dangerous gas. A window from the side open and, after the smoke aired out and a cough could be heard, he almost sighs because there was only one person who will never be afraid to do a dangerous experiment in their own room.

Sprawled in the center of the room was sir Mycroft's guest. His brown locks stick out all over the place, soot covered half of his face and goatee. Anthony Edward Stark  _don't-call-me-sir_  look up at the unmoving gaze of Robert and weakly grinned, abashed, "at least I'm not bleeding?"

Robert did sigh this time. He comes over the man and helps him get up, dusting the dirt away as he said, "how many times sir Mycroft asked you  _not_  to tinker with your suit?"

"I  _need_  to, okay? Or I'm going  _insane_!" Tony whined, using the screwdriver he stole from the garage to scratched his head. He gestured at the various part of his armor suit that was scattered over the marble floor, "I know all of the circuits are iced up" he winced. Robert realized he must've remembered the last misfortune that brought upon him before he was escorted unwillingly to this era, "and pretty much the computers inside are dead but maybe I can use some scrap to build... I don't know...at least a radio? Man, all this awesome tech, and I tried to turn it into a mere radio?"

"Radio?"

"Oh. It's a technology that sends electromagnetic signals over a long distance, to deliver information from one place to another, so you can receive news without buying the newspaper. Just turn on the radio and you can hear  _all_  the information you need to know. I want to build a television, but well..no signal everywhere~"

Robert nodded. When Tony started talking about his era technology, there was nothing he could do but hum. He didn't understand any of it. Yet it always fascinating to hear how his era this man living had developed so much. He remembered how Tony told them about another vehicle that could fly on the air beside hot-air balloon and a handy device in which you can browse hundreds of images, watching moving images—he called it movie?—and even hearing hundred of music with one button. Or just a single flick of a finger. Moreover, it also reminded his consciences that Tony Stark is not him.

Tony Stark is not Sherlock Holmes.

He shook his head, ignoring the infuriating butterfly on his stomach and scowled, "I understand your circumstances," get thrown into the past, after all his life getting surrounded by cool and awesome tech?  _Nah_. He could never understand that. Though the feeling of being useless? "but all this explosion can kill you someday. And I'm  _not_  going to let all sir Mycroft's time nursing you into healthiness goes in vain."

The brunette pouted, although he nodded in acquiescence. As he helped the man tidied up his mess, watching him scurried away from the floor, picking up everything and destroying every evidence he could find—not that it will slip by sir Mycroft's observation—he couldn't help but mumbled, "you really reminded me of  _him_ "

Tony tensed. Back still on him although he knew he was listening. Robert—after cursing his big mouth for that slip-up—said, "he loved to tinker with his weapon, be it a gun or pocket knife. Always give me a heart attack whenever he hurt himself because of that. You  _reminded_  me of sir Sherlock."

The genius continues his task, still not looking at Robert. When the tile almost clean plus his armor was stack on the corner of the room, the brunette eventually asked, "are you Sherlock's ex-bodyguard?"

"Why do you think that?"

"If what you said was true and I've reminded you of him, I'm going to choose such a stoic man just so I can annoy the hell out of you and make you smile," the bodyguard involuntary snorted and Tony grinned, "well, that's an improvement at least~"

It was a comfortable silence for another minute.

"Can you tell me what's he like?" Tony (meekly) stated, "I couldn't ask Mycroft because that's kinda a sensitive topic for him... _wait, shit,_  that came out wrong. I didn't mean your feeling doesn't  _worth_  it or anything but—"

" _Tony."_

He clammed up, wringing his fingers in nervousness. Robert let out a long breath and stare at Tony anticipating face—

.

" _Hey look, Robert! It's brother on the paper!"_

_._

" _See?! Told you I can get this job~"_

_._

" _Don't worry about me. I can protect myself, you know. What a worry-wart."_

_._

" _I'm off to my work, Robert. Don't drink all my tea. See you and Elliot tonight!"_

_._

_But you never_ came _back._

.

—before that puppy dog eyes overcome him (no wonder sir Mycroft could never resist that. It was too powerful) and he yield, "Sir Sherlock is a nice man. Kinda eccentric, but nice all the same."

As they sat there and Robert telling every adventure he went with the late brother, the sun was rising, enlightening the world and people living in it.

.

.

"You know, sir Tony."

"Hm?"

"You didn't have to try so hard being sir Sherlock's replacement. Sir Mycroft will  _still_  care about you. Whether you're his  _real_  brother or not."

"..."

"I know."

.

 _But he was the one who_ saved _me. Whereas everyone just_ left _me alone and never look back._

_So I want to make him happy anyway._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I searched in Wiki that radio is not developed until two years later? This fic set in 1894 soo...1896? Correct me if I'm wrong, please.
> 
> And well. Because in the movie, the first thing Sherlock do after he finished the case was shooting his gun off? I'm just gonna make it canon in this story that he loved tinkering as Tony do.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typo is my most loyal fan, spelling mistakes because English is not my mother language, Possibly OOC, Mostly Fluff with a lot of Angst. I hope. NOT BETA

_No._

"That's  _him!"_

_No._

"How could you..."

_No._

"Please, come quietly, sir."

_No!_

"How could you  _do_  this to my husband?!"

_He didn't mean to—_

As the officers pulled him away, he watched the woman cradling her husband unmoving body, crying softly.

— _he didn't mean to kill him!_

.

.

Tony cranked his head, gaze roaming around the old building in interest while he let Elliot's hands on his back guiding him throughout the crowd, Robert following on the rear. He was so used to his smooth wall, covered by bright paint and reinforced glasses, that the Victorian-era style of building fascinated him; with their gaudy decoration and brick so thick you need to hold it with two hands because of the weight. It's not a good defense system, although maybe he could implement not-too-sophisticated house sometimes in the future. It will give this homey feeling; cozy, warm  _and_  toasty.

( _If_  he go back)

(No.  _When_  he goes back)

(Because Death, a sly creature they are, promised him they'll transport him back when the time come. And he'll hold onto that)

Mycroft has no work today and Tony was bored out of his mind sitting around inside the house, doing nothing but read books and annoying the hell out of Robert—the other bodyguard is a little uptight, very different from Elliot who has a dry wit and sarcastic all the way. It was really fun to find a way to break him from the stony face he wore and make him smile a little (Tony is unsuccessful so far). Thus, with a bit of persuasion, voice one decibel higher and eyes widened further, Mycroft finally caved and decided to walk out with him. And of course, a place which he deemed good for a nice sight-seeing is a police station.

Or the Detention Center, to be precise.

" _Why?"_  he asked before they went out from home.

"So you can use that always-working-brain of yours to do something useful. And not trying to wreck the house with your dangerous experiment."

"Ei! It just exploded once!"

The deadpan stare is back.

Tony grumbled, "I swear you're Pepper's great, great grandad or something. Besides, don't blame me this era don't have all the cool stuff  _mine_  do!" he pouted while Mycroft chuckled, "no, honestly. Can someone please create a television already? A newspaper is sooo outdated! I'm gonna create one when I get the materials, claimed it as my first invention and change the history,  _believe it."_

The moment they reached the interrogation room—judging from the guards standing outside the wooden door, a small window that not even a kid could jump out—Mycroft, with only one tip of his hat, nodded at the guards and they let them in. He was almost stopped though if his older brother didn't ask them to give him a pass too.

"Hello, gentleman. How's the day treating you today?"

Tony, after sticking his tongue out and making a face to the grumbling guards, shifted half of his body from Mycroft's bulkier one. Watching as Lestrade stood up from the creaky chair to salute at the Holmes brother.

" _Hiya_ , Lestrade!" he waved, grinning when the said inspector sighed when he saw him. Babysitting Tony Stark is always a chore, still wondering how Pepper have done the impossible, "you have another case for me?"

"Um...we do have a crime this morning. But don't worry, we have the perp." He said. And Tony realized they have another spectator there; a tall man with ( _awesome!_ ) mustache and top hat, a stranger but familiar at the same time—

"Excuse me. Aren't you the man who help me in the market last week?" the stranger said.

( _Really?_  Tony watched his body tensed, shifted into a fight or flight stance, slight movement on his leg—)

"He's the one who almost got slandered, sir Sherlock." Elliot helpfully fills the blank.

And Tony smacked his knuckle on the other palm, lips shaping a big o, " _right_! I remember now! The soldier!"

"Thank you for helping me back there. And I...really  _am_  curious how did you know that. I don't wear my uniform that day. I'm  _not_  even in the army anymore." He mumbled, thinking no one heard him yet the awkward silence echoed his uttered word clearly anyway.

An ex-soldier! Just like he  _thought_  he would be! Well, if the mustache man want to know how he knows, then—

" _Not now,_  Sherly." Mycroft suddenly chided, knowing from the eager look on that shiny brown orbs alone, Tony was ready to show off his observation skill. Well, He couldn't blame him. Even Mycroft, the more reclusive one, like to be in the spotlight sometimes. He turned toward the patiently waiting Lestrade—learning from the experience not to disturb the Holmes brother, especially the younger one, whenever they were caught on their own world. They tend to ignore everything—and said, "What's the name of this fine, young man? And what is the  _crime_  he involved with, inspector?"

Before the officer could answer though, the mustache man cuts him, "Uuh...I'm here, sir. You can just ask me directly. My name is John H. Watson. And I—" John grimaced, hand cradling his suddenly tired face and eyes looking at everything except the others.

.

"...I  _killed_  someone today."


End file.
